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1 

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1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

1 


THE 


^/  '^  Q 


LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN 


BY 


MARY  HARTWELL   CATHERWOOD 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE   ROMANCE  OF  DOLLARD  " 


BOSTON   AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

1891 


Urf 


Vb'A; 


J 


Copyright,  1891, 

By  maby  hartwell  cathebwood. 
All  rights  reserved. 


PS 
1^11 


The  Rivertide  Press,  Cambridge,  3fass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


^W  &oo1i  31  tiebicate 

TO 

TWO  ACADIANS  OF  THE  PRESENT  DAY; 

NATIVES  OF  NOVA  SCOTIA  WHO  ItEPRESENT  THE  LEAKN- 
ING  AND  GENTLE   ATTAINMENTS   OF  THE 

NEW  okdeb: 
DR.  JOHN-GEORGE    BOURINOT,  C.  M.  G.,  ETC. 

CLEBK  OF  THE  CANADIAN    HOUSE  OF  COMMONS,   OP 
OTTAWA;    AND 

DR.  GEORGE   STEWART, 
OF  QUEBEC. 


1 


PREFACE. 


IIow  can  wo  care  for  shadows  and  types, 
when  wo  may  go  back  through  history  and 
live  again  with  people  who  actually  lived  ? 

Sitting  on  the  height  which  is  now  topped 
by  a  Martello  tower,  at  St.  John  in  the 
maritime  province  of  New  Brunswick,  I 
saw  —  not  the  opposite  city,  not  tlio  lovely 
bay ;  but  this  tragedy  of  Marie  de  la  Tour, 
the  tragedy  "  which  recalls "  (says  the 
Abbe  Casgrain  in  his  "  Pelerinage  au  pays 
d'Evangeline  ")  "  the  romances  of  Walter 
Scott,  and  forces  one  to  own  that  reality  is 
stranger  than  fiction." 

In  "  Papers  relating  to  the  rival  chiefs, 
D'Aulnay  and  La   Tour,"  of   the   Massa- 


Vl  PliKFACE. 

chusetts  Historical  Collection,  vol.  vii.,  may 
be  found  these  prefatory  remarks :  — 

**  There  is  a  romance  of  History  as  well 
as  a  History  of  Romance.  To  the  former 
class  belong  many  incidents  in  the  early 
periods  of  New  England  and  its  adjacent 
colonics.  The  following  papers  .  .  .  refer 
to  two  persons,  D'Aulnay  and  La  Tour, 
.  .  .  individuals  of  respectable  intellect  and 
education,  of  noble  families  and  large  for- 
tune. While  the  first  was  a  zealous  and 
efficient  supporter  of  the  Roman  Church, 
the  second  was  less  so,  from  his  frequent 
connection  with  others  of  a  different  faith. 
The  scene  of  their  .  .  .  prominent  actions, 
their  exhibition  of  various  passions  and 
talents,  their  conquests  and  defeats,  their 
career  and  end,  as  exerting  an  influence  on 
their  associates  as  well  as  themselves,  on 
other  communities  as  well  as  their  own  — 
was  laid  in  Nova  Scotia.     This  phrase  then 


Vll 


PREFACE. 

comprised  a  territory  vastly  more  extensive 
than  it  does  now  as  a  British  Province.  It 
embraced  not  only  its  present  boundaries, 
which  were  long  termed  Acadia,  but  also 
about  two  thirds  of  the  State  of  Maine." 

It  startles  the  modern  reader,  in  examin- 
ing documents  of  the  French  archives  re- 
lating to  the  colonies,  to  come  upon  a  letter 
from  Louis  XIII.  to  his  beloved  D'Aulnay 
de  Charnisay,  thanking  that  governor  of 
Acadia  for  his  good  service  at  Fort  St. 
John.  Thus  was  that  great  race  who  first 
trod  down  the  wilderness  on  this  continent 
continually  and  cruelly  hampered  by  the 
man  who  sat  on  the  throne  in  France. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB 

1 HELUDE.  At  the  IIkad  ok  the  Bay  of  Fi  ndy  .      1 
I.  An  Acadian  Foktuess     ....       13 

II.  Le  Rossksnoi.        .       .  .„ 

"...    -I 

III.  Fatheu  Isaac  Jogues       ....       40 

IV.  The  Wij)ow  Antonia  ....    55 
V.  Jonas  Buonck's  Hand     .     * .       .  (^ 

VI.  The  Mending        .        .  7., 

VII.  A  Fkontieu  Ghaveyard         ...  82 

VIII.  Van  CoKLAEii        ....  j,^". 

IX.  The  Tukket      .       .....  107 

X.  An  Acadian  Poet j9j 

XI.  ^Maugueuite       ....  J33 

XII.    D'AlLNAY        .  .  ....  143 

XIII.  The  Second  Day  irr 

XIV.  The  .Stkuggle  between  Poavers     .       .173 

XV.    A  .jOLDIER  ...  ini 

XVI.  The  Camp      .       ......  21I 

XVII.  An  Acadian  Passovxcr    .        .       .       .227 

XVIII.  The  Song  of  Edelwald    ...  950 

Postlude.    a  Tide-Creek     .  o-^ 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


PRELUDE. 

AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  BAY  OF  FUNDY. 

The  Atlantic  rushed  across  a  mile  or  two 
of  misty  beach,  boring  into  all  its  channels 
in  the  neck  of  Acadia.     Twilight  and  fog 
blurred  the  landscape,  but  the   eye  could 
trace  a  long  swell  of  earth  rising  gradually 
from  the  bay,  through  marshes,  to  a  sum- 
mit  with  a  small  stockade  on  its  southern 
slope.    Sentinels  pacing  within  the  stockade 
felt  the  weird  influence  of  that  bald  land. 
The  guarded  spot  seemed  an  island  in  a  sea 
of  vapor,  and   spring   night  was   bringing 
darkness  upon  it. 

The  stockade  inclosed  a   single  buildino- 
of  rough   logs  clumsily  put  together,  and 


2  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

chinked  with  the  hard  red  soil.  An  unhewn 
wall  divided  the  house  into  two  rooms,  and 
in  one  room  were  gathered  less  than  a  dozen 
men-at-arms.  Their  officer  lay  in  one  of 
the  cupboard-like  bunks,  with  his  hands 
clasped  under  his  head.  Some  of  the  men 
were  already  asleep ;  others  sat  by  the 
hearth,  rubbing  their  weapons  or  spreading 
some  garment  to  dry.  A  door  in  the  parti- 
tion opened,  and  the  wife  of  one  of  the  men 
came  from  the  inner  room. 

"  Good-night,  madame,"  she  said. 

"  Good-night,  Zclie,"  answered  a  voice 
within. 

"  If  you  have  further  need  of  me,  you 
will  call  me,  madame?  " 

"  Assuredly.  Get  to  your  rest.  To-mor- 
row we  may  have  stormy  weather  for  our 
voyage  home." 

The  woman  closed  the  door,  and  the  face 
of  the  one  who  had  hearkened  to  her  turned 
again  to  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  room  re- 
peating the  men's  barrack  in  hewed  floor, 
loophole  windows,  and  rough  joists. 


AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  BA  Y  OF  FUNDY.       3 

This  frontier  outpost  on  the  ridge  since 
called  Beausejour  was  merely  a  convenient 
halting-place  for  one  of  the  lords  of  Acadia. 
It  stood  on  a  detached  spot  of  his  large 
seigniory,  which  he  had  received  with  otlier 
portions  of  western  Acadia  in  exchange  for 
his  grant  of  Cape  Sable. 

Though  in  his  early  thirties,  Charles  de 
la  Tour  had  seen  long  service  in  the  New 
World.  Seldom  has  a  man  from  central 
France  met  the  northern  cold  and  sea  air 
with  so  white  a  favor.  His  clean-shaven 
skin  and  the  sunny  undecided  color  of  his 
hair  were  like  a  child's.  Part  of  his  armor 
had  been  unbuckled,  and  lay  on  the  floor 
near  him.  He  sat  in  a  chair  of  twisted 
boughs,  made  of  refuse  from  trees  his  men 
had  dragged  out  of  the  neighboring  forest 
for  the  building  of  the  outpost.  His  wife 
sat  on  a  pile  of  furs  beside  his  knee.  Her 
Huguenot  cap  lay  on  the  shelf  above  the 
fire.  She  wore  a  black  gown  slashed  in  the 
sleeves  with  white,  and  a  kerchief  of  lace 
pushed  from   her  throat.     Her  black  hair, 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


which  Zelie  had  braided,  hung  down  in  two 
ropes  to  the  floor. 

"  How  soon,  monsieur,"  she  asked,  "  can 
you  return  to  Fort  St.  John?"  ^ 

"  With  all  speed  possible,  Marie.  Soon, 
if  we  can  work  the  miracle  of  mo\ang  a 
peace-loving  man  like  Denys  to  action." 

"  Nicholas  Denys  ought  to  take  part  with 

you." 

"  Yet  he  will  scarce  do  it." 

"The  king-favored  governor  of  Acadia 
will  some  time  turn  and  push  him  as  he 
now  pushes  you." 

"  D'Aulnay  hath  me  at  sore  straits,"  con- 
fessed La  Tour,  staring  at  the  flame,  "  since 
he  has  cut  off  from  me  the  help  of  the  Bos- 
tonnais." 

"  They  were  easily  cut  off,"  said  Marie. 
"  Monsieur,  those  Huguenots  of  the  colonies 
were  never  loving  friends  of  ours.  Their 
policy  hath  been  to  weaken  this  province  by 
helping  the  quarrel  betwixt  D'Aulnay  and 
you.  Now  that  D'Aulnay  has  strength  at 
court,  and  has  persuaded  the   king  to  de- 


AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  DAY  OF  FUNDY.       5 

clare  you  an  outlaw,  the  Bostonnais  think  it 
wise  to  withdraw  their  hired  soldiers  from 
you.  We  have  not  offended  the  Bostonnais 
as  allies ;  we  have  only  gone  down  in  the 
world." 

La  Tour  stirred  uneasily. 

"  I  dread  that  D'Aulnay  may  profit  by 
this  hasty  journey  I  make  to  northern 
Acadia,  and  again  attack  the  fort  in  my 
absence." 

"  He  hath  once  found  a  woman  there 
who  could  hold  it,"  said  Marie,  checking  a 
laugh. 

La  Tour  moved  his  palm  over  her  cheek. 
Within  his  mind  the  province  of  Acadia  lay 
spread  from  Penobscot  River  to  the  Island 
of  Sable,  and  from  the  southern  tip  of  the 
peninsula  now  called  Nova  Scotia  nearly  to 
the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  This  do- 
main had  been  parceled  in  grants  :  the  north 
to  Nicholas  Denys ;  the  centre  and  west  to 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay ;  and  the  south, 
with  posts  on  the  western  coast,  to  Charles 
de  la  Tour.     Being  Protestant  in  faith.  La 


6  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOIIX. 

Tour  had  no  influence  at  the  court  of  Louis 
XIII.  His  gi'ant  had  been  confirmed  to 
him  from  his  father.  He  had  held  it  against 
treason  to  France  ;  and  his  loyal  service,  at 
least,  was  regarded  until  D'Aulnay  de  Cliar- 
nisay  became  his  enemy.  Even  in  that  year 
of  gi'ace  1G45,  before  Acadia  was  diked  by 
home-making  Norman  peasants  or  watered 
by  their  parting  tears,  contending  forces 
had  begun  to  trample  it.  Two  feudal  barons 
fought  each  other  on  the  soil  of  the  New 
World. 

"  All  things  failing  me  "  —  La  Tour  held 
out  his  wrists,  and  looked  at  them  with  a 
sharp  smile. 

"Let  D'Aulnay  shake  a  warrant,  mon- 
sieur. He  must  needs  have  you  before  he 
can  carry  you  in  chains  to  France." 

She  seized  La  Tour's  hands,  with  a  swift 
impulse  of  atoning  to  them  for  the  thought 
of  such  indignity,  and  kissed  his  wrists. 
He  set  his  teeth  on  a  trembling  lip. 

"  I  should  be  a  worthless,  aimless  vagrant 
without  you,  Marie.     You  are  young,  and  I 


.V. 

3f  Louis 
•mecl  to 
against 
rvice,  at 
le  Cliar- 
lat  year 
iked  by 
watered 
•  forces 
1  barons 
[le  New 

ur  held 
with  a 

;,  mon- 
'ore  he 

swift 
lought 
wrists. 


AT  TUE  HKAU  OF  THE  DAY  OF  FUNDY. 


and  I 


ive  you  fatigue  and  heart-sickening  peril 
instead  of  jewels  and  merry  company." 

"  The  merriest  company  for  us  at  present, 
monsieur,  are  the  men  of  our  honest  garri- 
son. If  Edelwald,  who  came  so  lately,  com- 
plains not  of  this  New  World  life,  I  should 
endure  it  merrily  enough.  And  you  know 
I  seldom  now  wear  the  jewels  belonging  to 
our  house.  Our  cliief  jewel  is  buried  in  the 
ground." 

She  thought  of  a  short  grave  wrapped  in 
fogs  near  Fort  St.  John ;  of  fair  curls  and 
sweet  childish  limbs,  and  a  mouth  shouting 
to  send  echoes  through  the  river  gorge  ;  of 
scamperings  on  the  flags  of  the  hall ;  and 
of  the  erect  and  princely  carriage  of  that 
diminutive  presence  the  men  had  called 
"  my  little  lord." 

*'  But  it  is  better  for  the  boy  that  he  died, 
Marie,"  murmured  La  Tour.  "  He  has  no 
part  in  these  times.  He  might  have  sur- 
vived us  to  see  his  inheritance  stripped  from 
him." 

They  were  silent  until  Marie  said,  "  You 


8 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


have  a  long  march  before  you  to-morrow, 
monsieur." 

"  Yes ;  we  ought  to  throw  ourselves  into 
these  mangers,"  said  La  Tour. 

One  wall  was  lined  with  bunks  like  those 
in  the  outer  room.  In  the  lower  row 
travelers*  preparations  were  already  made 
for  sleeping. 

"I  am  yet  of  the  mind,  monsieur,"  ob- 
served Marie,  '^  that  you  should  have  made 
this  journey  entirely  by  sea." 

"  It  would  cost  me  too  much  in  time  to 
round  Cape  Sable  twice.  Nicholas  Denys 
can  furnish  ship  as  well  as  men,  if  he  be  so 
minded.  My  lieutenant  in  arms  next  to 
Edelwald,"  said  La  Tour,  smiling  over  her, 
"  my  equal  partner  in  troubles,  and  my 
lady  of  Fort  St.  John  will  stand  for  my 
honor  and  prosperity  until  I  return." 

Marie  smiled  back. 

"  D'Aulnay  has  a  fair  wife,  and  her  hus- 
band is  rich,  and  favored  by  the  king,  and 
has  got  himself  made  governor  of  Acadia 
in  your  stead.     She  sits  in  her  own  hall  at 


AT  TIIK  II HAD  OF  THE  HAY  OF  FUSDY.       9 

Port  lioyal :  but  poor  Mudame  D' Auluay  1 
She  lias  not  thee  I  " 

At  this  La  Tour  hiughed  aloud.  The 
ring  of  his  voice,  and  the  clang  of  his  breast- 
plate which  fell  over  on  the  floor  as  he 
arose,  woke  an  answering  sound.  It  did  not 
come  from  the  outer  room,  where  scarcely 
a  voice  stirred  among  the  sleepy  soldiery, 
but  from  the  top  row  of  bunks.  Marie 
turned  white  at  this  child  wail  soothed  by 
a  woman's  voice. 

"What  have  we  here?"  exclaimed  La 
Tour. 

"  Monsieur,  it  must  be  a  baby  I " 

"  AYho  has  broken  into  this  post  with  a 
baby  ?  There  may  be  men  concealed  over- 
head." 

He  grasped  his  pistols,  but  no  men-at- 
arms  appeared  with  the  haggard  woman 
who  crept  down  from  her  hiding-place  near 
the  joists. 

"  Are  you  some  spy  sent  from  D'Aul- 
nay  ?  "  inquired  La  Tour. 

"  Monsieur,  how  can  you  so  accuse  a  poor 
outcast  mother !  "  whispered  Marie. 


10 


rilE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


The  door  in  the  partition  was  flung  wide, 
and  the  young  officer  appeared  with  men  at 
his  hack. 

"  Have  you  found  an  ambush,  Sieur 
Charles  ?  " 

"  We  have  here  a  listener,  Edelwald," 
rei)Hed  La  Tour,  "  and  there  may  be  more 
in  the  loft  above." 

Several  men  sprang  up  the  bunks  and 
moved  some  puncheons  overhead.  A  light 
was  raised  under  the  dark  roof  canopy,  but 
nothing  rewarded  its  search.  The  much- 
bedraggled  woman  was  young,  with  falling 
strands  of  silken  hair,  which  she  wound  up 
with  one  hand  while  holding  the  baby. 
Marie  took  the  poor  wailer  from  her  with  a 
divine  motion  and  carried  it  to  the  hearth. 

"  Who  brought  you  here  ?  "  demanded 
La  Tour  of  the  girl. 

She  cowered  before  him,  but  answered 
nothing.  Her  presence  seemed  to  him  a 
sinister  menace  against  even  his  obscurest 
holdings  in  Acadia.  The  stockade  was 
easily  entered,  for  La  Tour  was  unable  to 


AT  THE  UK  AD  OF  THE  DAY  OF  FUXDY.    H 


a 


4< 


maintain  a  garrison  there.  All  that  opeu 
country  lay  sodden  with  the  breath  of  the 
sea.  From  whatever  point  she  had  ap- 
proached, La  Tour  could  scarcely  believe 
her  feet  came  tracking  the  moist  red  clay 
alone. 

Will  you  give  no  account  of  yourself  ?  " 
You  must  answer  monsieur,"  encour- 
aged Marie,  turning  from  her  cares  with 
the  child.  It  lay  unwound  from  its  misery 
on  Marie's  knees,  watching  the  new  minis- 
tering power  with  accepting  eyes.  Femi- 
nine and  piteous  as  the  girl  was,  her  dense 
resistance  to  command  could  only  vex  a 
soldier. 

"Put  her  under  guard,"  he  said  to  his 
officer. 

"And  Zelie  must  look  to  her  comfort," 
added  Marie. 

"Whoever  she  may  be,"  declared  La 
Tour,  "  she  hath  heard  too  much  to  go  free 
of  this  i)lace.  She  must  be  sent  in  the  ship 
to  Fort  St.  John,  and  guarded  there." 

"What   else    could    be   done,   indeed?" 


12  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOI/y. 

asked  Marie.  "  The  child  would  die  of  ex- 
posure here." 

The  prisoner  was  taken  to  the  other 
hearth ;  and  the  young  officer,  as  he  closed 
the  door,  half  smiled  to  hear  his  lady  mur- 
mur over  the  wretched  little  outcast,  as  she 
always  murmured  to  ailing  creatures,  — 

"  Let  mother  help  you." 


I. 


AN   ACADIAN    FORTRESS. 


At  the  mouth  of  the  river  St.  John  an 
ishuul  was  hishcd  with  drift,  and  tide-ter- 
races alongshore  recorded  liow  furiously  the 
sea  had  driven  upon  the  land.  There  had 
been  a  two  days'  storm  on  the  Bay  of 
Fundy,  subsiding  to  the  clearest  of  cool 
spring  evenings.  An  amber  light  lay  on 
the  visible  world.  The  forest  on  the  west 
was  yet  too  bare  of  leaf  buds  to  shut  away 
sunset. 

A  month  later  the  headlands  would  bo 
lined  distinctly  against  a  blue  and  quicken- 
ing sky  by  freshened  air  and  light  and 
herbage.  Two  centuries  and  a  half  later, 
long  streaks  of  electric  light  would  ripple 
on  that  surface,  and  great  ships  stand  at 
ease  there,  and  ferry-boats  rush  back  and 
forth.     But  in  this  closing  dusk  it  reflected 


14 


THE  LADY  OF  FjRT  ST.  JOHN. 


only  the  gray  and  yellow  vaporous  breath 

of  Ajml,  and  shaggy  edges  of  a  wilderness. 

The  high  shores  sank  their  shadows  farther 

and  farther  from  the  water's  edge. 

« 

Fort  St.  John  was  built  upon  a  gi*adual 
ascbnt  of  rocks  which  rose  to  a  small  prom- 
ontory on  the  south  side  of  the  river.  There 
were  four  bastions  guarded  with  cannon, 
the  northeast  bastion  swelling  above  its  fel- 
lows in  a  round  turret  topped  with  battle- 
ments. On  this  tower  the  flag  of  France 
hung  down  its  staff  against  the  evening  sky, 
for  there  was  scarcely  any  motion  of  the 
air.  That  coast  lay  silent  like  a  pictured 
land,  except  a.  hint  of  falls  above  in  the 
river.  It  was  ebb  tide  ;  the  current  of  the 
St.  John  set  out  toward  the  sea  instead  of 
rushing  back  on  its  own  channel,  and  rocks 
swallowed  at  flood  now  broke  the  surface. 

A  plume  of  smoke  sprang  from  one  bas- 
tion, followed  by  the  rolling  thunder  of  a 
cannon  shot.  From  a  small  shi})  in  the  bay 
a  gun  replied  to  this  salute.  She  stood 
gradually   clear   of    a   headland,  her  sails 


AN  ACADIAX  FORTREISS. 


15 


hanging  torn  and  one  mast  broken,  and 
sentinel  and  cannoneer  in  the  bastion  saw 
that  she  was  lowering  a  boat.  They  called 
to  people  in  the  fortress,  and  all  voices 
caught  tlie  news  :  — 

"  Madame  has  come  at  last !  " 

Life  stirred  through  the  entire  inclosure 
with  a  jar  of  closing  doors  and  running  feet. 

Though  not  a  large  fortification,  St.  John 
was  well  and  compactly  built  of  cemented 
stone.  A  row  of  hewed  log  barracks  stood 
against  the  southern  wall,  ample  for  all  the 
troops  La  Tour  had  been  able  to  muster  in 
prosperous  times.  There  was  a  stone  vault 
for  ammunition.  A  well,  a  mill  and  great 
stone  oven,  and  a  storehouse  for  beaver  and 
other  skins  were  between  the  barracks  and 
the  conmiandant's  tower  built  massively 
into  the  northeast  bastion.  This  structure 
gave  La  Tour  the  advantage  of  a  high  look- 
out, though  it  was  much  smaller  than  a 
castle  he  had  formerly  held  at  La  Ileve. 
The  interior  accommodated  itself  to  such 
compactness,  the   lower   floor   having   only 


IG 


Till-:   LADY   OF  FORT  fiT.  JOHN. 


one  entrance,  and  windows  looking  into  the 
area  of  the  fort,  while  the  second  floor 
was  lighted  through  deep  loopholes. 

A  drum  began  to  beat,  a  tall  fellow  gave 
the  word  of  command,  and  the  garrison  of 
Fort  St.  John  drew  up  in  line  facing  the 
gate.  A  sentinel  unbarred  and  set  wide 
both  inner  and  outer  leaves,  and  a  cheer 
burst  through  the  deep-throated  gateway, 
and  was  thrown  back  from  the  opposite 
shore,  from  forest  and  river  windings.  Ma- 
dame La  Tour,  with  two  women  attendants, 
was  seen  coming  up  from  the  water's  edge, 
while  two  men  pushed  off  with  the  boat. 

She  waved  her  hand  in  reply  to  the 
shout. 

The  tall  soldier  went  down  to  meet  her, 
and  paused,  bareheaded,  to  make  the  salu- 
tation of  a  subaltern  to  his  military  supe- 
rior. She  responded  with  the  same  grave 
courtesy.  But  as  he  drew  nearer  she  no- 
ticed him  whitening  through  the  dusk. 

"  All  has  gone  well,  Klussman,  at  Fort 
St.  John,  since  your  lord  left  ?  " 


3 


I 


M 


AN  ACADIAN  FORTRESS. 


17 


"Madame,"   lie   said   with    a    stammer, 
"  tlie  storm  made  us  anxious  about  you." 
"  Have  you  seen  D'Aulnay  ?  " 
*'  No,  madame." 

"  You  look  haggard,  Klussman." 
"  If   I   look   haggard,   madame,  it   must 
come  from   seeing   two  women  follow  you, 
when  I  should  see  only  one." 

Pie  threw  sharp  glances  behind  her,  as 
he  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  up  the  steep 
path.  Marie's  attendant  was  carrying  the 
baby,  and  she  lifted  it  for  him  to  look  at, 
the  hairs  on  her  upper  lip  moved  by  a  good- 
natured  smile.  Klussman's  scowl  darkened 
his  mountain-born  fairness. 

"I  would  rather,  indeed,  be  brinjrin"- 
more  men  to  the  fort  instead  of  more 
women,"  said  his  lady,  as  they  mounted  the 
slope.  "  But  this  one  might  have  perished 
in  the  stockade  where  we  found  her,  and 
your  lord  not  only  misliked  her,  as  you 
seem  to  do,  but  he  hold  her  in  suspicion. 
In  a  manner,  therefore,  she  is  our  prisonei", 
tlioiigh  never  went  i)ris()ner  so  helplessly 
with  her  captors." 


r  f 


.  t 

n 


18 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


"  Yes,  any  one  might   take  such  a  crea- 
ture," said  Khissman. 

"  Those  are  no  fit  words  to  speak,  Kluss- 


man. 


»> 


He  was  unready  with  his  apology,  how- 
ever, and  tramped  on  without  again  look- 
ing behind.  Madame  La  Tour  glanced  at 
her  ship,  which  would  have  to  wait  for  wind 
and  tide  to  reach  the  usual  mooring. 

"  Did  you  tell  me  you  had  news  ? "  she 
was  reminded  to  ask  him. 

"Madame,  I  have  some  news,  but  noth- 
ing serious." 

"If  it  be  nothing  serious,  I  will  have  a 
change  of  garments  and  my  supper  before 
I  hear  it.     We  have  had  a  hard  voyage." 

"  Did  my  lord  send  any  new  orders?  " 

"  None,  save  to  keep  this  poor  girl  about 
the  fort ;  and  that  is  easily  obeyed,  since 
we  can  scarce  do  otherwise  with  her." 

"  I  meant  to  ask  in  the  first  breath  how 
he  fared  in  the  outset  of  his  expedition." 

"  With  a  lowering  sky  overhead,  and  wet 
red  clay  underfoot.    But  I  thanked  Heaven, 


AN  ACADIAN  FORTRESS. 


19 


while  wo  were  tossing  with  a  broken  mast, 
that  lie  was  at  least  on  firm  land  and  mov- 
ing to  his  expectations." 

They  entered  the  gateway,  Madame  La 
Tour's  cheeks  tingling  richly  from  the  effort 
of  climbing.  She  saluted  her  garrison,  and 
her  garrison  saluted  her,  each  with  a  courte- 
ous pride  in  the  other,  born  of  the  joint 
victory  they  had  won  over  D'Aulnay  de 
Charnisay  when  he  attacked  the  fort.  Not 
a  man  broke  rank  until  she  entered  her 
hall.  There  was  a  tidiness  about  the  in- 
cisure peculiar  to  2)laces  inhabited  by 
women.  It  added  grace  even  to  military 
appointments. 

"You  miss  the  swan,  madame,"  noted 
Klussman.     "  Le  Rossignol  is  out  again." 

"  When  did  she  ctq  ?  " 

"  The  night  after  my  lord  and  you  sailed 
northward.  She  goes  each  time  in  the 
night,  madame." 

"  And  she  is  still  away  ?  " 

"Yes,  madame." 

"  And  this  is  all  you  know  of  her?  " 


ill! 


20 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


"  Yes,  madame.  She  went,  and  has  not 
yet  come  back." 

"But  she  always  comes  back  safely. 
Though  I  fear,"  said  Madame  La  Tour  on 
the  threshold,  "the  poor  maid  will  some 
time  fall  into  harm." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  stood  aside,  say- 
ing under  his  breath,  "  I  would  call  a  crea- 
ture like  that  a  witch  instead  of  a  maid." 

*'  I  will  send  for  you,  Klussman,  when  I 
have  refreshed  myself." 

"  Yes,  madame." 

The  other  women  filed  past  him,  and  en- 
tered behind  his  ladv. 

The  Swiss  soldier  folded  his  arms,  staring 
hard  at  that  crouching  vagrant  brought 
from  Beausejour.  She  had  a  covering  over 
her  face,  and  she  held  it  close,  crowding  on 
the  heels  in  front  of  her  as  if  she  dared  not 
meet  his  eye. 


ii  k 


II. 


LE   ROSSIGNOL. 

A  GIRLISH  woman  was  waiting  for  Marie 
within  the  hall,  and  the  two  exchanged 
kisses  on  the  cheek  with  sedate  and  tender 
courtesy. 

"  \Yelcome  home,  madame." 

"  Home  is  more  welcome  to  me  because  I 
find  you  in  it,  Antonia.  Has  anything  un- 
usual happened  in  the  fortress  while  I  ha*^e 
been  setting  monsieur  on  his  way?  " 

"  This  morning,  about  dawn,  I  heard  a 
great  tramping  of  soldiers  in  the  hall.  One 
of  the  women  told  me  prisoners  had  been 
brought  in." 

"Yes.  The  Swiss  said  he  had  news. 
And  liow  has  the  Lady  Dorinda  fared  ?  " 

"Well,  indeed.  She  has  described  to 
me  three  times  the  gorgeous  pageant  of 
her  marriage." 


^ 


22 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


They  had  reached  the  fireplace,  and  Marie 
laughed  as  she  warmed  her  hands  before  a 
pile  of  melting  logs. 

"  Give  our  sea  -  tossed  bundle  and  its 
mother  a  warm  seat,  Zdlie,"  she  said  to  her 
woman. 

The  luiknown  girl  was  placed  near  the 
hearth  corner,  and  constrained  to  take  upon 
her  knees  an  object  which  she  held  indif- 
ferently. Antonia's  eyes  rested  on  her,  de- 
tecting her  half-concealed  face,  with  silent 
disapproval. 

"  We  found  a  child  on  this  expedition." 

*'  It  hath  a  stiffened  look,  like  a  papoose," 
observed  Antonia.     '*  Is  it  well  in  health  ?  " 

"  No  ;  poor  baby.  Attend  to  the  child," 
said  Marie  sternly  to  the  mother;  and  she 
added,  "  Zelie  must  go  directly  with  me  to 
my  chests  before  she  waits  on  me,  and  bring 
down  garments  for  it  to  this  hearth." 

"  Let  me  this  time  be  your  maid,"  said 
Antonia. 

"You  may  come  with  me  and  be  my 
resolution,  Antonia ;  for  I  have  to  set  about 


LE  ROSSIGNOL. 


28 


j> 


9» 


bring 


'  said 


^ 


the  unlocking  of  boxes  which  hold  some 
sacred  clothes." 

"  I  never  saw  you  lack  courage,  madame, 
since  I  have  known  you." 

*'  Therein  have  I  deceived  you  then," 
said  Marie,  throwing  her  cloak  on  Zelie's 
arm,  "  for  I  am  a  most  cowardly  creature 
in  my  affections,  Madame  Bronck." 

They  moved  toward  the  stairs.  Antonia 
was  as  perfect  as  a  slim  and  blue-eyed  stalk 
of  flax.  She  wore  the  laced  bodice  and 
small  cap  of  New  Holland.  Her  exactly 
spoken  French  denoted  all  the  neat  appoint- 
ments of  her  life.  This  Dutch  gentle- 
woman had  seen  much  of  the  world ;  having 
traveled  from  Fort  Orange  to  New  Amster- 
dam, from  New  Amsterdam  to  Boston,  and 
from  Boston  with  Madame  La  Tour  to  Fort 
St.  John  in  Acadia.  The  three  figures  as- 
cended in  a  line  the  narrow  stairway  which 
made  a  diagonal  band  from  lower  to  upper 
corner  of  the  remote  hall  end.  Zdlie  walked 
last,  carrying  her  lady's  cloak.  At  the  top 
a  little  light  fell  on  them  through  a  loop- 
hole. 


24 


rilK  LADY  OF  FOUT  ST.  JOHN. 


**  Was  Mynheer  La  Tour  in  good  heart 
for  his  march  ?  "  inquired  Antonia,  turning 
from  the  waifs  brought  back  to  the  expedi- 
tion itself. 

"  Stout-hearted  enough ;  but  the  man  to 
whom  he  goes  is  scarce  to  be  counted  on. 
We  Protestant  French  are  all  held  alien 
by  Catholics  of  our  blood.  Edelwald  will 
move  Denys  to  take  arms  with  us,  if  any 
one  can.  My  lord  depends  much  upon 
Edelwald.  This  instant,"  said  Marie  with 
a  laugh,  "I  find  the  worst  of  all  my  dis- 
comforts these  disordered  garments." 

The  stranger  left  by  the  fire  gazed  around 
the  dim  place,  which  was  lighted  only  by 
high  windows  in  front.  The  mighty  hearth, 
inclosed  by  settles,  was  like  a  roseate  side- 
chamber  to  the  hall.  Outside  of  this  the 
stone-paved  floor  spread  away  unevenly. 
She  turned  her  eyes  from  the  arms  of  La 
Tour  over  the  mantel  to  trace  seamed  and 
footworn  flags,  and  noticed  in  the  distant 
corner,  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  that  they 
gave  way  to  a  trapdoor  of   timbers.     This 


Li:  JiOSSIGXOL.  26 

was  fastened  down  with  iron  bars,  and  had 
a  luig(!  ling  for  its  handle.  Her  eyes  rested 
on  it  in  fear,  betwixt  the  separated  settles. 

But  it  was  easily  lost  sight  of  in  the  fire's 
warmth.  She  had  been  so  chilled  by  salt 
air  and  spray  as  to  crowd  close  to  the  flame 
and  court  scorching.  Her  white  face  kin- 
dled with  heat.  She  threw  back  her  mufflers, 
and  the  comfort  of  the  child  occurring  to 
her,  she  looked  at  its  small  face  through  a 
tunnel  of  clothing.  Its  exceeding  stillness 
awoke  but  one  wish,  which  she  dared  not  let 
escape  in  words. 

These  stone  walls  readily  echoed  any 
sound.  So  scantily  furnished  was  the  great 
hall  that  it  could  not  refrain  fi'oni  echoing. 
There  were  some  chairs  and  tables  not  of 
colonial  pattern,  and  a  buffet  holding  silver 
tankards  and  china  ;  but  these  seemed  lost 
in  space.  Opposite  the  fireplace  hung  two 
portraits,  —  one  of  Charles  La  Tour's  fa- 
ther, the  other  of  a  former  maid  of  honor 
at  the  English  court.  The  ceiling  of  wooden 
panels  had   been  brought  from  La  Tour's 


.  ! 


'!  ?! 


H 


W 


26  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

castlo  at  Cupt)  Sabh; ;  it  answered  tlio  flicker 
of  the  firo  with  lines  of  faded  gilding. 

The  girl  dropped  her  wrappings  on  the 
bench,  and  began  to  nnroU  the  baby,  as  if 
curions  about  its  state. 

"I  believe  it  Is  dead  !  "  she  whispered. 

But  the  clank  of  a  long  iron  latch  which 
fastened  the  outer  door  was  enough  to  de- 
flect her  interest  from  the  matter.  She 
cast  her  cloak  over  the  baby,  and  held  it 
loosely  on  her  knees,  with  its  head  to  the 
fire.  When  the  door  shut  with  a  crash,  and 
some  small  object  scurried  a<?ross  the  stone 
floor,  the  girl  looked  out  of  her  retreat  with 
fear.  Her  eyelids  and  lips  fell  wider  apart. 
She  saw  a  big-headed  brownie  coming  to  the 
hearth,  clad,  with  the  exception  of  its  cap, 
in  the  dun  tints  of  autumn  woods.  This 
creature,  scarcely  more  than  two  feet  high, 
had  a  woman's  face,  of  beak-like  formation, 
projecting  forward.  She  was  as  bright- 
eyed  and  light  of  foot  as  any  bird.  Mov- 
ing within  the  inclosure  of  the  settles,  she 
hopped  up  with  a  singular  power  of  vault- 


?m 


1 


/,/•;  liossjayoL 


27 


flicker 

on  the 

r,  as  if 

red. 
I  which 
1  to  tie- 
She 
held  it 
to  the 
sh,  and 
e  stone 
!at  with 
L'  apart. 
r  to  the 
its  cap, 
This 
it  high, 
niation, 
bright- 
Mov- 
ies, she 
:  vault- 


ing, and  seated  herself,  stretching  toward 
the  fire  a  pair  of  sjmtted  seal  moccasins. 
These  were  so  small  that  the  feet  on  which 
they  were  laced  seemed  an  infant's,  and 
sorted  strangely  with  the  mature  keen  face 
above  them.  Youth,  age,  and  wise  sylvan 
life  were  brought  to  a  focus  in  that  coun- 
tenance. 

To  hear  such  a  creature  talk  was  like 
being  startled  by  spoken  words  from  a  bird. 

"■  I  'm  Le  Kossignol,"  she  })iped  out,  when 
she  had  lookiid  at  the  vagrant  girl  a  few 
minutes,  "iind  I  can  read  your  name  on 
your  face.     It 's  ^larguerite." 

The  girl  stared  helplessly  at  this  midget 
seer. 

"•  You  're  the  same  Marguerite  that  was 
left  on  the  Island  of  Demons  a  hundred 
years  ago.  You  may  not  know  it,  but 
you  're  the  same.  I  know  that  downward 
look,  and  soft,  crying  way,  and  still  tongue, 
and  the  very  baby  on  your  knees.  You 
never  bring  any  good,  and  words  are  wasted 
on  you.     Don't  smile  under  your  sly  mouth, 


28 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  HT.  JOHN. 


and  think  you  are  hiding  anything  from  Le 
Rossignol." 

The  girl  crouched  deeper  into  her  clothes, 
until  those  unwinking  eyes  relieved  her  by 
turning  with  indifference  toward  the  chim- 
ney. 

"  I  have  no  pity  for  any  Marguerite,'* 
Le  Rossignol  added,  and  she  tossed  from 
her  head  the  entire  subject  with  a  cap  made 
of  white  gull  l>reasts.  A  brush  of  red  hair 
stood  up  in  thousands  of  tendrils,  exagger- 
ating by  its  nimbus  the  size  of  her  upper 
person.  Never  had  dwarf  a  sweeter  voice. 
If  she  had  been  compressed  in  order  to 
produce  melody,  her  tones  were  compen- 
sation enough.  She  made  lilting  sounds 
while  dangling  her  feet  to  the  blaze,  as  if 
she  thought  in  music. 

Le  Rossignol  was  so  positive  a  force  that 
she  seldom  found  herself  overborne  by  the 
presence  of  large  human  beings.  The  only 
man  in  the  fortress  who  saw  her  without 
superstition  was  Klussman.  He  inclined  to 
complain  of  her  antics,  but  not  to  find  magic 


LE   ROSSIGNOL. 


29 


ill  her  flights  and  returns.  At  that  period 
deformity  was  the  symbol  of  witchcraft. 
Blame  fell  upon  this  dwarf  when  toothache 
or  rheumatic  pains  invaded  the  barracks, 
especially  if  the  sufferer  had  spoken  against 
her  unseen  excursions  with  her  swan.  Pro- 
tected from  childhood  by  the  family  of  La 
Tour,  she  had  grown  an  autocrat,  and  bent 
to  nobody  except  her  lady. 

"Where  is  my  clavier?"  exclaimed  Le 
Rossignol.  "I  heard  a  tune  in  the  woods 
which  I  must  get  out  of  my  clavier,  —  a 
green  tune,  the  color  of  quickening  lichens  ; 
a  dropping  tune  with  sap  in  it ;  a  tune  like 
the  wind  across  inland  lakes." 

She  ran  along  the  settle,  and  thrust  her 
head  around  its  high  back. 

Zelie,  with  white  garments  upon  one  arm, 
was  setting  solidly  forth  down  the  uncovered 
stairs,  when  the  dwarf  arrested  her  by  a  cry. 

"  Go  back,  heavy-foot,  —  go  back  and 
fetch  me  my  clavier." 

"  Mademoiselle  the  nightingale  has  sud- 
denly returned,"  muttered  Zelie,  ill  pleased. 


30 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


"Am  I  not  always  here  when  my  lady 
comes  home?  I  demand  the  box  wherein 
my  instrument  is  kei)t." 

"  What  doth  your  instrument  concern 
me?  Madame  has  sent  me  to  dress  the 
baby." 

"  Will  you  bring  my  clavier?  " 

The  dwarf's  scream  was  like  the  weird 
high  note  of  a  wind-harp.  It  had  its  effect 
on  Zelie.  She  turned  back,  though  mutter- 
ing against  the  overruling  of  her  lady's  com- 
mands by  a  creature  like  a  bat,  who  could 
probably  send  other  powers  than  a  decent 
maid  to  bring  claviers. 

"  And  where  shall  I  find  it  ?  '*  she  in- 
quired aloud.  "  Here  have  I  been  in  the 
fortress  scarce  half  an  hour,  after  all  but 
shipwreck,  and  I  must  search  out  the  be- 
longings of  people  who  do  naught  but 
idle." 

"  Find  it  where  you  will.  No  one  hath 
the  key  but  myself.  The  box  may  stand  in 
Madame  Marie's  apartment,  or  it  may  be 
in   my  own   chamber.      Such  matters   are 


* 


'^ 


LE  ROSSIGNOL. 


81 


blown  out  of  my  head  by  the  wind  along 
the  coast.  Make  haste  to  fetch  it  so  I  can 
play  when  Madame  Marie  appears." 

Le  Rossignol  drew  herself  up  the  back  of 
the  settle,  and  perched  at  ease  on  the  angle 
farthest  from  the  fire.  She  beat  her  heels 
lightly  against  her  throne,  and  hummed, 
with  her  face  turned  from  the  listless  girl, 
who  watched  all  her  antics. 

Zelie  brought  the  instrument  case,  un- 
locked it,  and  handed  up  a  crook-necked 
mandolin  and  its  small  ivory  plectrum  to 
her  tyrant.  At  once  the  hall  was  full  of 
tinkling  melody.  The  dwarf's  threadlike 
fingers  ran  along  the  neck  of  the  mandolin, 
and  as  she  made  the  ivory  disk  quiver 
among  its  strings  her  head  swayed  in  rap- 
turous singing. 

Zelie  forgot  the  baby.  The  garments 
intended  for  its  use  were  spread  upon  the 
settle  near  the  fire.  She  folded  her  arms, 
and  wagged  her  head  with  Le  Rossignol' s. 
But  wliile  the  dwarf  kept  an  eye  on  the 
stairway,  watching  like  a  lover  for  the  ap- 


H 


32 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


1)1 


pearance  of  Madame  La  Tour,  the  outer 
door  again  clanked,  and  Klussman  stepped 
into  the  hall.  Ilis  big  presence  had  instant 
effect  on  Le  Kossignol.  Her  music  tinkled 
louder  and  faster.  The  playing  sprite,  sit- 
ting half  on  air,  gamboled  and  made  droll 
faces  to  catch  his  eye.  Her  vanity  and  self- 
satisfaction,  her  pliant  gesture  and  skillful 
wild  music,  made  her  appear  some  soulless 
little  being  from  the  woods  who  mocked  at 
man's  tense  sternness. 

Klussman  took  little  notice  of  any  one  in 
the  hall,  but  waited  by  the  closed  door  so 
relentless  a  sentinel  that  Zelie  was  reminded 
of  her  duty.  She  made  haste  to  bring  per- 
fumed water  in  a  basin,  and  turned  the 
linen  on  the  settle.  She  then  took  the  child 
from  its  mother's  limp  hands,  and  exclaimed 
and  muttered  under  her  breath  a:^  she  turned 
it  on  her  knees. 

"  What  hast  thoa  done  to  it  since  my  lady 
left  thee  ?  "  inquired  Zelie  sharply.  But  she 
got  no  answer  from  the  girl. 

Unrewarded   for    her    minstrelsy    by    a 


LE  ROSSIGNOL. 


88 


single  look  from  the  Swiss,  Le  Rossignol 
quit  playing,  and  made  a  fist  of  the  curved 
instrument  to  shake  at  him,  and  let  herself 
down  the  back  of  the  settle.  She  sat  on  the 
mandolin  box  in  shadow,  vaguely  sulking, 
until  Madame  La  Tour,  fresh  from  her 
swift  attiring,  stood  at  the  top  of  the  stair- 
way. That  instant  the  half-hid  mandolin 
burst  into  quavering  melodies. 

*'  Thou  art  back  again.  Nightingale  ?  " 
called  the  lady,  descending. 

"  Yes,  Madame  Marie." 

"Madame!  "  exclaimed  Klussman,  and  as 
his  voice  escaped  repression  it  rang  through 
the  hall.  He  advanced,  but  his  lady  lifted 
her  finger  to  hold  him  back. 

"•  Presently,  Klussman.  The  first  matter 
in  hand  is  to  rebuke  this  runaway." 

Marie's  firm  and  polished  chin,  the  con- 
tour of  her  glov/ing  mouth,  and  the  kindling 
beauty  of  her  eyes  were  forever  fresh  de- 
lights to  Le  Rossignol.  The  dwarf  watched 
the  shapely  and  majestic  woman  moving 
down  the  hall. 


fn^ 


84 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


i 


*'  Madame,"  besought  Zolie,  lookinjj  anx- 
iously around  the  end  of  the  settle.  But 
she  also  was  obliged  to  wait.  Marie  ex- 
tended a  hand  to  the  claws  of  Lc  llossignol, 
who  touched  it  with  her  beak. 

"  Thou  hast  very  greatly  displeased  me." 

"Y«s,  iVIadame  Marie,"  said  the  culprit, 
with  re  ;iL»;T    Mon. 

"  How  many  times  have  you  set  all  our 
people  lidlv^'ng  ;/;.out  these  witch  flights  on 
the  swan,  and  sud;leii  returns  after  dark  ?  " 

"  I  forget,  Madame  Marie." 

*'  In  all  seriousness  thou  shalt  be  well 
punished  for  this  last,"  said  the  lady  se- 
verely. 

"  I  was  punished  before  the  offense.  Your 
absence  punished  me,  Madame  Marie." 

"A  bit  of  adroit  flattery  will  not  turn 
aside  discipline.  The  smallest  vassal  in  the 
fort  shall  know  that.  A  day  in  the  turret, 
with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  jug  of  water, 
may  put  thee  in  better  liking  to  stay  at 
home." 

"  Yes,  Madame  Marie,"  assented  the 
dwarf,  with  smiles. 


ii 


LE  JIOSSIGNOL. 


35 


"  And  I  may  yet  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
have  that  swan's  neck  wrung." 

"  Shubenacadie's  neck  !  Oh,  Madame 
Marie,  wring  mine  !  It  would  be  the  death 
of  me  if  Shubenacadie  died.  Consider  how 
lonff  I  have  had  him.  And  his  looks,  my 
lady !     He  is  such  a  pretty  bird." 

"  We  must  mend  that  dangerous  beauty 
of  his.  If  these  flights  stop  not,  I  will  have 
his  wings  clipped." 

"  His  satin  wings,  —  his  glistening,  pol- 
ished wings,"  mourned  Le  Ilossignol, 
"tipped  with  angel-finger  feathers!  Oh, 
Madame  Marie,  my  heart's  blood  would 
run  out  of  his  quills  !  " 

"  It  is  a  serious  breach  in  the  discipline 
of  this  fortress  for  even  you  to  disobey  me 
constantly,"  said  the  lady,  again  severely, 
though  she  knew  her  lecture  was  wasted  on 
the  human  brownie. 

Le   Ilossignol    poked    and   worried    the 
mandolin   with   antenna?  -  like   fingers,    and 
made  up  a  contrite  face. 
The  dimness  of  the  hall  had  not  covered 


:  t 


36 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


I  n 


Klussman's  large  pallor.  The  emotions  of 
the  Swiss  passed  over  the  outside  of  his 
countenance,  in  bulk  like  himself.  His 
lady  often  compared  him  to  a  noble  young 
bullock  or  other  well-conditioned  animal. 
There  was  in  Klussman  much  wholesome- 
ness  and  excuse  for  existence. 

"  Now,  Klussman,"  said  Marie,  meeting 
her  lieutenant  with  the  intentness  of  one 
used  to  sudden  military  emergencies.  He 
trod  straight  to  the  fireplace,  and  pointed 
at  the  strange  girl,  who  hid  her  face. 

"  Madame,  I  have  come  in  to  speak  of  a 
thing  you  ought  to  know.  Has  that  woman 
told  you  her  name  ?  " 

"  No,  she  hath  not.  She  hath  kept  a 
close  tongue  ever  since  we  found  her  at  the 
outpost." 

"She  ever  had  a  close  tongue,  madame, 
but  she  works  her  will  in  silence.  It  hath 
been  no  good  will  to  me,  and  it  will  be  no 
good  will  to  the  Fort  of  St.  John." 

"  Who  is  she,  Klussman  ?  " 

*'  I  know  not  what  name  she  bears  now, 


^\ 


B 
B 


LE  ItOSSIGNOL.  37 

but  two  years  since  she  bore  the  name  of 
Marguerite  Klussman." 

"  Surely  she  is  not  your  sister  ?  " 

"No,  madame.  She  is  only  my  wife." 
He  lifted  his  lip,  and  his  blue  eyes  stared 
at  the  muffled  culprit. 

"  We  knew  not  you  had  a  wife  when  you 
entered  our  service,  Klussman." 

*'Nor  had  I,  madame.  D'Aulnay  de 
Charnisay  had  already  taken  her." 

"  Then  this  woman  does  come  from 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame !  And  if  you  would  have 
my  advice,  I  say  put  her  out  of  the  gate 
this  instant,  and  let  her  find  shelter  with 
our  Indians  above  the  falls." 

"Madame,"  exclaimed  Zelie,  lifting  the 
half-nude  infant,  and  thrusting  it  before  her 
mistress  with  importunity  which  could  wait 
no  longer,  "of  your  kindness  look  at  this 
little  creature.  With  all  my  chafing  and 
sprinkling  I  cannot  find  any  life  in  it.  That 
girl  hath  let  it  die  on  her  knees,  and  hath 
not  made  it  known  !  " 


i 


% 


■M''^ 


1 


i< 


iii 


38 


Tilt:  LADY  OF  FOliT  ST.  JOHN. 


Kluss man's  glance  rested  on  the  body 
with  that  abashed  hatred  which  a  man  con- 
demns in  himself  when  its  object  is  helpless. 

"  It  is  D'Aulnay's  child,"  he  muttered, 
as  if  stating  abundant  reason  for  its  taking 
off. 

"  I  have  brought  an  agent  from  D'Aul- 
nay  and  D'Aulnay's  child  into  our  for- 
tress," said  Madame  La  Tour,  speaking 
toward  Marguerite's  silent  cover,  under 
which  the  girl  made  no  sign  of  being  more 
than  a  hidden  animal.  Her  stern  face 
traveled  from  mother  back  to  tiny  body. 

There  is  nothing  more  touching  than  the 
emaciation  of  a  baby.  Its  sunken  temples 
and  evident  cheekbones,  the  line  of  its  jaw, 
the  piteous  parted  lips  and  thin  neck  were 
all  reflected  in  Marie's  eyes.  Her  entire 
figure  softened,  and  passionate  motherhood 
filled  her.  She  took  the  still  pliant  shape 
from  Zdlie,  held  it  in  her  hands,  and  finally 
pressed  it  against  her  bosom.  No  sign  of 
mourning  came  from  the  woman  called  its 
mother. 


..* 


LE  ROSSIGNOL. 


89 


**  This  baby  is  no  enemy  of  ours,"  trem- 
bled Madame  La  Tour.  "  I  will  not  have 
it  even  reproached  with  being  the  child 
of  our  enemy.  It  is  my  little  dead  lad 
come  again  to  my  bosom.  How  soft  are 
his  dear  limbs!  And  this  child  died  for 
lack  of  loving  while  I  went  with  empty 
arms !  Have  vou  suffered,  dear  ?  It  is  all 
done  now.  Mother  will  give  you  kisses,  — 
kisses.     Oh,  baby,  —  baby  ! " 

Klussman  turned  away,  and  Zclie  whim- 
pered. But  Le  Rossignol  thrust  her  head 
around  the  settle  to  see  what  manner  of 
creature  it  was  over  which  Madame  Marie 
sobbed  aloud. 


ikB 


tl 


I 


T 


i 


li 


III. 


FATIIEU   ISAAC   JOGUES. 


^*^ 


The  child  abandoned  by  La  Tour's  enemy 
had  been  carried  to  the  upper  floor,  and 
the  woman  sent  with  a  soldier's  wife  to  the 
barracks ;  yet  Madame  La  Tour  continued 
to  walk  the  stone  flags,  feeling  that  small 
skeleton  on  her  bosom,  and  the  pressure  of 
death  on  the  air. 

Her  Swiss  lieutenant  opened  the  door 
and  uttered  a  call.  Presently,  with  a  clat- 
ter of  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  and  a  mighty 
rasping  of  the  half-tree  which  they  dragged, 
in  burst  eight  Sable  Island  ponies,  shaggy 
fellows,  smaller  than  mastiffs,  yet  ^vith  large 
heads.  The  settles  were  hastily  cleared 
away  for  them,  and  they  swept  their  load 
to  the  hearth.  As  soon  as  their  chain  was 
unhooked,  these  fairy  horses  shot  .out  again, 
and  their  joyful  neighing  could  be  heard  as 


FATllKU   ISAAC  JOO'Ch'S. 


41 


tlioy  scampered  around  tlie  fort  to  their 
stable.  Two  men  rolled  the  log  into  place, 
set  a  table  and  three  chairs,  and  one  re- 
turned to  the  cook-house  while  the  other 
spread  the  cloth. 

Claude  La  Tour  and  his  wife,  the  maid 
of  honor,  seemed  to  palpitate  in  their 
frames,  with  the  flickering  expressions  of 
firelight.  The  silent  company  of  these  two 
j)eople  was  always  enjoyed  by  Le  Rossignol. 
She  knew  their  disappointments,  and  ^iked 
to  have  them  stir  and  sigh.  In  the  day- 
time, the  set  courtier  smile  was  sadder  than 
a  pine  forest.  But  the  chini  ey's  huge 
throat  drew  in  the  hall's  heavy  influences, 
and  when  the  log  was  fired  not  a  corner 
escaped  its  glow.  The  man  who  laid  the 
cloth  lighted  caudles  in  a  silver  candela- 
brum and  set  it  on  the  table,  and  carried 
a  brand  to  waxlights  which  decorated  the 
buffet. 

These  cheerful  preparations  for  her  even- 
ing meal  recalled  Madame  La  Tour  to  the 
garrison's    affairs.      Her   Swiss   lieutenant 


'.i 


ii 


J  ■ 


Hi 


if 


H 


<i! 


^Sk 


42 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


ir 


:  il 


t 


yet  stood  by,  his  arms  and  chin  settled  sul- 
lenly on  his  breast ;  reluctant  to  go  out  and 
pass  the  barrack  door  where  his  wife  was 
sheltered. 

"  Are  sentinels  set  for  the  night,  Kluss- 
man  ?  "  inquired  the  lady. 

He  stood  erect,  and  answered,  "  Yes, 
madame." 

"  I  will  not  wait  for  my  supper  before 
I  hear  your  news.  Discharge  it  now.  I 
imderstand  the  grief  you  bear,  my  friend. 
Your  lord  will  not  forget  the  faithfulness 
you  show  toward  us." 

"  Madame,  if  I  may  speak  again,  put 
that  woman  out  of  the  gate.  If  she  lingers 
around!,  I  may  do  her  some  hurt  when  I 
have  a  loaded  piece  in  my  hand.  She  makes 
me  less  a  man." 

"But,  Klussman,  the  Sieur  de  la  Tour, 
whose  suspicions  of  her  you  have  justified, 
strictly  charged  that  we  restrain  her  here 
until  his  return.  She  has  seen  and  heard 
too  much  of  our  condition." 

"  Our  Indians  would  hold  her  safe  enough, 
madame." 


M.r^ 


FATHER   ISAAC  JOGUES. 


43 


(t 


Yet  she  is  a  soft,  feeble  creature,  and 
much  exhausted.  Could  she  bear  their  hard 
living?" 

"Madame,  she  will  requite  whoever 
shelters  her  with  shame  and  trouble.  If 
D'Aulnay  has  turned  her  forth,  she  would 
willingly  buy  back  his  favor  by  opening 
this  fortress  to  him.  If  he  has  not  turned 
her  forth,  she  is  here  by  his  command.  I 
have  thought  out  all  these  things;  and, 
madame,  I  shall  say  nothing  more,  if  you 
prefer  to  risk  yourself  in  her  hands  instead 
of  risking  her  with  the  savages." 

The  dwarf's  mandolin  trembled  a  mere 
whisper  of  sound.  She  leaned  her  large 
head  against  the  settle  and  watched  the 
Swiss  denounce  his  wife. 

"  You  speak  good  military  sense,"  said 
the  lady,  "  yet  there  is  monsieur's  com- 
mand. And  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  drive 
that  exhausted  creature  to  a  cold  bed  in  the 
woods.  We  must  venture  —  we  cannot  do 
less  —  to  let  her  rest  a  few  days  under 
guard.     Now  let  me  hear  your  news." 


11 
■1 


Hi 


t 


i 


1 


!        i 


1 


44 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.    'OIIN. 


■f\ 


■l^i 


"  It  was  only  this,  madame.  Word  was 
brought  ill  that  two  priests  from  Montreal 
were  wandering  above  the  falls  and  trying 
to  cross  the  St.  John  in  order  to  make  their 
way  to  D'Aulnay's  fort  at  Penobscot.  So 
I  set  after  them  and  brought  them  in,  and 
they  are  now  in  the  keep,  waiting  your 
pleasure." 

"  Doubtless  you  did  right,"  hesitated  Ma- 
dame La  Tour.  "  Even  priests  may  be 
working  us  harm,  so  hated  are  we  of  Pa- 
pists. But  hivve  them  out  directly,  Kluss- 
man.  We  nmst  not  be  rigorous.  Did  they 
bear  any  papers?  " 

*'  No,  madame  ;  and  they  said  they  had 
naught  to  do  with  D'Aulnay,  but  were  on  a 
mission  to  the  Abenakis  around  Penobscot, 
and  had  lost  their  course  and  wandered 
here.  One  of  them  is  that  Father  Isaac 
Jogues  who  was  maimed  by  the  Mohawks, 
when  he  carried  papistry  among  them,  and 
the  other  his  donnc  —  a  name  these  2)rif  sts 
give  to  any  man  who  of  his  own  free  will 
goes  with  them  to  be  servant   of   the  mis- 


sion. 


1^ 


A^  _ 


FATHER  ISAAC  JOGUES. 


45 


!,(, 


Bring  them  out  of  the  keep,"  said  Ma- 
dame La  Tour. 

The  Swiss  walked  with  ringing  foot  to- 
ward the  stairway,  and  dropped  upon  one 
knee  to  unbar  the  door  in  the  pavement. 
He  took  a  kev  from  his  pocket  and  turned 
it  in  the  lock,  and,  as  he  lifted  the  heavy 
leaf  of  beams  and  crosspieces,  his  lady  held 
over  the  darkness  a  candle,  which  she  had 
taken  from  one  of  the  buffet  sconces.  Out 
of  the  vault  rose  a  chill  breath  from  which 
the  candle  flame  recoiled. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  spoke  downward,  "  will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  come  up  with  your 
companion  ?  " 

Iler  voice  resounded  in  the  hollow ;  and 
some  movement  occurred  below  as  soft- 
spoken  answer  was  made  :  — 

••'  We  come,  madame." 

A  cassocked  Jesuit  appeared  under  the 
light,  followed  by  a  man  wearing  the  or- 
dinary dress  of  a  French  colonist.  They 
ascended  the  stone  steps,  and  Klussman  re- 
])laced  the  door  with  a  clank  which  echoed 


^1 


r      ; 


««  ( 


I 


I 


:  I 


■A 

HI 


'  i   ^ 


11!  J 


I  i 

i  1 1 

1 

1  i '  ■ 

hi 

■  1  I 

'fi     ! 


!         iS' 


ill 


46 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


around  the  hall.  Marie  gave  him  the  can- 
dle, and  with  clumsy  touch  he  fitted  it  to 
the  sconce  while  she  led  her  prisoners  to  the 
fire.  The  Protestant  was  able  to  dwell 
with  disapproval  on  the  Jesuit's  black  gown, 
though  it  proved  the  hard  service  of  a  mis- 
sionary priest;  the  face  of  Father  Jogues 
none  but  a  savage  could  resist. 

His  downcast  eyelids  were  like  a  woman's, 
and  so  was  his  delicate  mouth.  1  uc  cheeks, 
shading  inward  from  their  natural  oval, 
testified  to  a  life  of  hardship.  His  full  and 
broad  forehead,  bordered  by  a  fringe  of 
hair  left  around  his  tonsure,  must  have 
overbalanced  his  lower  face,  had  that  not 
been  covered  by  a  short  beard,  parted  on 
the  upper  lip  and  peaked  at  the  end.  His 
eyebrows  were  well  marked,  and  the  large- 
orbed  eyes  seemed  so  full  of  smiling  medi- 
tation that  Marie  said  to  herself,  "This 
lovely,  woman-looking  man  hath  the  pres- 
ence of  an  angel,  and  we  have  chilled  him 
in  our  keep  !  " 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  madame,"  spoke 
Father  Jogues. 


FATHER  ISAAC  JOGUES. 


47 


"  Monsieur,  I  crave  your  pardon  for  the 
cold  greeting  you  have  had  in  tins  fortress. 
We  are  people  who  liv^e  in  perils,  and  we 
may  be  over-suspicious." 

"  Madame,  I  have  no  complaint  to  bring 
against  you." 

Both  men  were  shivering,  and  she  di- 
rected them  to  places  on  the  settle.  They 
sat  where  the  vagrant  girl  had  huddled. 
Father  efogues  warmed  his  hands,  and  she 
noticed  how  abruptly  serrated  by  missing 
or  maimed  fingers  was  their  tapered  shape. 
The  man  who  had  gone  out  to  the  cook- 
house returned  with  platters,  and  in  pass- 
m^  the  Swiss  lieutenant  gave  him  a  hur- 
ried  word,  on  which  the  Swiss  left  the  hall. 
The  two  men  made  space  for  Father  Jogues 
at  their  lady's  board,  and  brought  forward 
another  table  for  his  donne. 

"  Good  friends,"  said  Marie,  "  this  Hu- 
guenot fare  is  offered  you  heartily,  and  I 
hope  you  will  as  heartily  take  it,  thereby 
excusing  the  hunger  of  a  woman  who  has 
just  come  in  from  seafaring." 


:si 


I 


HI 


;  .  I 


t:*-'  W 


1P1: 


48 


THE   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


ll'    * 


ill 

ifi:   ! 


"  Madame,"  returned  the  priest,  "  we  have 
scarcely  seen  civilized  food  since  leaving 
Montreal,  and  we  need  no  urging  to  enjoy 
this  bounty.  But,  if  you  permit,  I  will  sit 
here  beside  my  brother  Lalande." 

"  As  you  i^lease,"  she  answered,  glancing 
at  the  plain  young  Frenchman  in  colonial 
dress  with  suspicion  that  he  was  made  the 
excuse  for  separating  Romanist  and  Prot- 
estant. 

Father  Jogues  saw  her  glance  and  read 
her  thought,  and  silently  accused  himself  of 
cowardice  for  shrinking,  in  his  maimed 
state,  from  her  table  with  the  instincts  of  a 
gentle-born  man.  He  explained,  resting  his 
hand  upon  the  chair  which  had  been  moved 
from  the  lady's  to  his  servant's  table :  — 

"  We  have  no  wish  to  be  honored  above 
our  desert,  madame.  We  are  only  humble 
missionaries,  and  often  while  carrying  the 
truth  have  been  thankful  for  a  meal  of 
roots  or  berries  in  the  woods." 

"  Your  humility  hurts  me,  monsieur.  On 
the  Acadian  borders  we  have  bitter  enmi- 


FAT II Eli   ISAAC  JOGUES. 


49 


ties,  but  the  fort  of  La  Tour  shelters  all 
faiths  alike.  We  can  hardly  atone  to  so 
good  a  man  for  having  thrust  him  into  our 
keep." 

Father  Jogues  shook  his  head,  and  put 
aside  this  apology  with  a  gesture.  The 
queen  of  Franco  had  knelt  and  kissed  liis 
mutilated  hands,  and  the  courtiers  of  Louis 
had  praised  his  martyrdom.  But  such  or- 
deals of  compliment  were  harder  for  him  to 
endure  than  the  teeth  and  knives  of  the 
Mohawks. 

As  soon  as  Le  Rossignol  saw  the  platters 
appearing,  she  carried  her  mandolin  to  the 
lowest  stair  step  and  sat  down  to  play  :  a 
quaint  minstrel,  liolding  an  instrument  al- 
most as  large  as  herself.  That  part  of  the 
househokl  who  lingered  in  the  rooms  above 
owned  this  accustomed  signal  and  appeared 
on  the  stairs :  Antonia  Bronck,  still  dis- 
turbed by  the  small  skeleton  she  had  seen 
Zelie  dressing  for  its  grave  ;  and  an  elderly 
woman  of  great  bulk  and  majesty,  w  itli  sal- 
low hair  and  face,  who  wore,  enlarged,  one  of 


!   [ 


!4 


I 


\   ><l 


rill 


i  ■       ! 
'  ;  '      !  ' 
II 


T— 


50 


Tin:  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


.1 
(1 


-.  1 


the  court  gowns  which  her  sovereign,  the 
queen  of  England,  had  often  praised.  Le 
liossignol  followed  these  two  ladies  across 
the  hall,  alternately  aping  the  girlish  motion 
of  Antonia  and  her  elder's  massive  progress. 
She  considered  the  Dutch  gentlewoman  a 
sweet  interloper  who  might,  on  occasions,  be 
pardoned  ;  but  Lady  Dorinda  was  the  nat- 
ural antagonist  of  the  dwarf  in  Fort  St. 
John.  Marie  herself  seated  her  mother-in- 
law,  with  the  graceful  deference  of  youth  to 
middle  age  and  of  present  power  to  decayed 
grandeur.  Lady  Dorinda  was  not  easy  to 
make  comfortable.  The  New  World  was 
hardly  her  sphere.  In  earlier  life,  she  had 
learned  in  the  school  of  the  royal  Stuarts 
that  some  people  are,  by  divine  right,  im- 
measurably better  than  others,  —  and  expe- 
rience had  thrust  her  down  among  those 
unfortunate  others. 

Seeing  there  were  strange  men  in  the  hall, 
Antonia  divined  that  the  prisoners  from  the 
keep  had  been  brought  up  to  supper.  But 
Lady  Dorinda  settled   her  chin   upon  her 


FATHER   ISAAC  JOGUES. 


51 


necklace,  and  sighed  a  large  sigh  that 
priests  and  rough  men-at-arms  should  weary 
eyes  once  used  to  revel  in  court  pageantry. 
She  looked  up  at  the  portrait  of  her  dead 
husband,  which  hung  on  the  wall.  He  had 
been  created  the  first  knight  of  Acadia ; 
and  though  this  honor  came  from  her  king, 
and  his  son  refused  to  inherit  it  after  him. 
Lady  Dorinda  believed  that  only  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  La  Tours  had  prevented  her 
being  a  colonial  queen. 

"  Our  chaplain  being  absent  in  the  service 
of  Sieur  de  la  Tour,"  spoke  Marie,  "  will 
monsieur,  in  his  own  fashion,  bless  this 
meal?" 

Father  Jogues  spread  the  remnant  of  his 
hands,  but  Antonia  did  not  hear  a  word  he 
breathed.  She  was  again  in  Fort  Orange. 
The  Iroquois  stalked  up  hilly  paths  and 
swarmed  around  the  plank  huts  of  Dutch 
traders.  With  the  savages  walked  this  very 
priest,  their  patient  drudge  until  some  of 
them  blasphemed,  when  he  sternly  and  fear- 
lessly denounced  the  sinners. 


H 


!.'  'i 


n 


i  i 


■ 


w 


62 


THE  LADY   OF  FOItT  ST.   JOIfX. 


I!     ! 


Supper  was  scarcely  begun  when  the 
Swiss  lieutenant  came  again  into  the  hall 
and  saluted  his  lady. 

"  What  troubles  us,  Klussman?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  There  is  a  stranger  outside." 

"What  docs  he  want?" 

"  Madame,  he  asks  to  be  admitted  to  Fort 
St.  John." 

"  Is  he  alone  ?  Hath  he  a  suspicious 
look?" 

"  No,  madame.  He  bears  himself  openly 
and  like  a  man  of  consequence." 

"  How  many  followers  has  he  ?  " 

"  A  dozen,  counting  Indians.  But  all 
of  them  he  sends  back  to  camp  with  our 
Etchemins." 

"  And  well  he  may.  We  want  no  strange 
followers  in  the  barracks.  Have  you  ques- 
tioned him  ?     AVhence  does  he  come  ?  " 

"  From  Fort  Orange,  in  the  New  Nether- 
lands, madame." 

"  He  is  then  Hollandais."     Marie  turned 


-& 


ii 


i'  (J 


It'll 


FATIIKli   ISAAC  JOGUKS.  68 

to  Aiitonia  Broiiek,  and  was  jarred  by  her 
blanching  face. 

*'  What  is  it,  Antonia  ?  You  liave  no 
enemy  to  follow  you  into  Acadia?  " 

The  flaxen  head  was  shaken  for  reply. 

"  But  what  brings  a  man  from  Fort 
Orange  here  ?  " 

"  There  by  nearly  a  hundred  men  in  Fort 
Orange,"  whispered  Antonia. 

•"  He  says,"  announced  the  Swiss,  "  that 
he  is  cousin  and  agent  of  the  seignior  they 
call  the  patroon,  and  his  name  is  Van  Cor- 
ker." 

"  Do  you  know  him,  Antonia  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  is  he  kindly  disposed  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  was  the  friend  of  my  husband,  Jonas 
Bronck,"  trembled  Antonia. 

"Admit  him,"  said  Marie  to  her  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  Alone,  madame  ?  " 

"With  all  his  followers,  if  he  wills  it. 
And  bring  him  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  this 
table." 


i 


\ 


; 


1  i 


H 


,  I 


54       Tin:  lady  of  fort  st.  joilv. 

"We  need  Edelwald  to  manage  these 
affairs,"  added  the  lady  of  the  fort,  as  her 
subaltern  went  out.  "  The  Swiss  is  faithful, 
hut  ho  has  maimers  as  rugged  as  his  moun- 
tains." 


II! 


IV. 


THE  WIDOW   ANTONIA. 

Antonia  sat  ill  tense  quiet,  though 
whitened  even  across  the  lips  where  all  the 
color  of  her  face  usually  appeared  ;  and  a 
stalwart  and  courtly  man  presented  himself 
in  the  hall.  Some  of  the  best  blood  of  the 
Dutch  Kepublic  had  evidently  gone  to  his 
making,  lie  had  the  vital  and  reliable 
presence  of  a  master  in  affairs,  and  his 
clean-shaven  face  had  firm  mouth-corners. 
Marie  rose  up  without  pause  to  meet  him. 
lie  was  freshly  and  carefully  dressed  in 
clothes  carried  for  this  purpose  across  the 
wilderness,  and  gained  favor  even  with 
ady  Dorinda,  as  a  man  bearing  around 
im  in  the  New  World  the  atmosphere  of 
i^urope.  He  made  his  greeting  in  French, 
and  explained  that  he  was  passing  through 
Acadia    n  a  journey  to  Montreal.  • 


li 


A 


: 


i 


4 


I  Ii! 


56 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


i  i 


1^ 


"  We  stand  much  beholden  to  monsieur," 
said  Marie  with  a  quizzical  face,  *'  that  he 
should  travel  so  many  hundred  leagues  out 
of  his  way  to  visit  this  poor  fort.  I  have 
heard  that  the  usual  route  to  Montreal  is 
that  short  and  direct  one  up  the  lake  of 
Champlain." 

Van  Corlaer's  smile  rested  openly  on 
Antonia  as  he  answered,  — 

"  Madame,  a  man's  most  direct  route  is 
the  one  that  leads  to  his  object." 

"  Doubtless,  monsriieur.  And  you  are 
very  welcome  to  this  fort.  We  ha\  e  cause 
to  love  the  New  Nctherlanders." 

Marie  turned  to  deliver  Antonia  her 
guest,  but  Antonia  stood  without  word  or 
look  for  him.  She  seemed  a  scared  Dutch 
child,  bending  all  her  strength  and  all  her 
inherited  quiet  on  maintaining  self-control. 
He  approached  her,  searching  her  face  with 
his  near-sighted  large  eyes. 

"  Had   Madame  Bronck   no   expectation 
of  seeing  Arendt  Van  Corlaer  in  Acadia  ?  " 
«    "  No,  mynheer,"  whispered  Antonia. 


THE    WIDOW  ANTON  I  A. 


57 


"  But  since  I  have  come  have  you  noth- 
ing to  say  to  me  ?  " 

*'  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  mynheer." 

"You  might  see  me  well,"  reproached 
Van  Corlaer,  "  if  you  would  look  at  me." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  dropped  them 
again. 

"  This  Acadian  air  has  given  you  a  wan 
color,"  he  noted. 

"  Did  you  leave  Teunis  and  Marytje 
Harmentse  well  ? "  quavered  Anton  ia, 
catching  at  any  scrap.  Van  Corlaer  stared, 
and  answered  that  Teunis  and  Marytje 
were  well,  and  would  be  grateful  to  her  for 
inquiring. 

"  For  they  also  helped  to  hide  this  priest 
from  the  Mohawks,"  added  Antonia  with- 
out coherence.  Marie  could  hear  her  heart 
laboring. 

"  What  priest  ?  "  inquired  Van  Corlaer, 
and  as  he  looked  around  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  cassocked  figure  at  the  other  table. 

"  Monsieur  Corlaer,"  spoke  Father 
»Togues,  "  I  was  but  waiting  fit  opportunity 


i 


II 


1'^ 


I  ,   I 

ijl 


IL 


■  I 
i 


68  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JO  FLY. 

to  recall  myself  and  your  blessed  charity  to 
your  memory." 

Van  Corlaer's  baffled  look  changed  to 
instant  glad  recognition. 

"  That  is  Father  Jogues  !  " 

He  met  the  priest  with  both  hands,  and 
stood  head  and  slioulders  taller  while  they 
held  each  other  like  brothers. 

"  I  thought  to  find  you  in  Montreal, 
Father  Jogues,  and  not  here,  where  in  my 
dim  fashion  I  could  mistake  you  for  the 
chaplain  of  the  fort." 

"  Monsieur  Corlaer,  I  have  not  forgot 
one  look  of  yours.  I  was  a  great  trouble  to 
you  with  my  wounds  and  my  hiding  and 
fever.  And  what  pains  you  took  to  put  me 
on  board  the  ship  in  the  night !  It  would 
be  better  indeed  to  see  me  at  Montreal  than 
ever  in  such  plight  again  at  Fort  Orange, 
Monsieur  Corlaer !  " 

"  Glad  would  we  be  to  have  you  at  Fort 
Orange  again,  without  pain  to  yourself, 
Father  Jogues." 

"  And  how  is  my  friend  who  so  much  en- 
joyed disputing  about  religion  ? 


»» 


THE  WIDOW  ANT  ON  I  A. 


59 


"Our  dominie  is  well,  and  sent  by  my 
hand  liis  hearty  greeting  to  that  very 
learned  scholar  Father  Jogues.  We  heard 
you  had  come  back  from  France." 

Van  Corlaer  droj^ped  one  hand  on  the 
donne's  shoulder  and  leaned  down  to  ex- 
amine his  smiling  face. 

"It  is  my  brother  Lalande,  the  donnc  of 
this  present  mission,"  said  the  priest. 

"  My  young  monsieur,"  said  Van  Corlaer, 
"  keep  Father  Jogues  out  of  the  Mohawks' 
mouths  henceforth.  They  have  really  no 
stomach  for  religion,  though  they  will  eat 
saints.  It  often  puzzles  a  Dutchman  to 
handle  that  Iroquois  nation." 

"  Our  lives  are  not  our  own,"  said  the 
young  Frenchman. 

"  We  must  bear  the  truth  whether  it  be 
received  or  not,"  said  Father  Jogues. 

"  Whatever  errand  brought  you  into 
Acadia,"  said  Van  Corlaer,  turning  back  to 
the  priest,  "  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,  for 
I  shall  now  have  your  company  back  to 
Montreal." 


Vi 

If 


■  ■  I  ■; 


■t 


';! 


i-'\ 


I' 


HI 


60 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.    JOl/.W 


"  Impossible,  Monsieur  Corlaer.  For  I 
Lave  set  out  to  plant  a  mission  among  the 
Abenakis.  They  asked  for  a  missionary. 
Our  guides  deserted  us,  and  we  have  wan- 
dered off  our  course  and  been  obliged  to 
throw  away  nearly  all  the  furniture  of  our 
mission.  But  we  now  hope  to  make  our 
way  along  the  coast." 

"Father  Jogues,  the  Abenakis  are  all 
gone  northward.  We  passed  through  their 
towns  on  the  Penobscot." 

"  But  they  will  come  back  ?  " 

"  Some  time,  though  no  man  at  Penob- 
scot would  be  able  to  say  when." 

Father  Jogues'  perplexed  brows  drew  to- 
gether. Wanderings,  hunger,  and  imprison- 
ment he  could  bear  serenely  as  incidents  of 
his  journey.  But  to  have  his  flock  scattered 
before  he  could  reach  it  was  real  calamity. 

"  We  must  make  shift  to  follow  them," 
he  said. 

"  How  will  you  follow  them  without  sup- 
plies, and  without  knowing  where  they  may 
turn  in  the  woods  ?  " 


THE   WIDOW  ANTONIA.  61 

"  I  see  we  shall  have  to  wait  for  them  at 
Penobscot,"  said  Father  Jogues. 

"Take  a  heretic's  advice  instead.  For 
I  speak  not  as  the  enemy  of  your  religion 
when  I  urge  you  to  journey  with  me  back 
to  Montreal.  You  can  make  another  and 
better  start  to  establish  this  mission." 

The  priest  shook  his  head. 

"I  do  not  see  my  way.  But  my  way 
will  be  shown  to  me,  or  word  will  come 
sending  me  back." 

Some  sign  from  the  lady  of  the  fortress 
recalled  Van  Corlaer  to  his  duty  as  a  guest. 
The  supper  grew  cold  while  he  parleyed. 
So  he  turned  quickly  to  take  the  chair  she 
had  set  for  him,  and  saw  that  Antonia  was 
gone. 

"Madame  Bronck  will  return,"  said 
Marie,  pitying  his  chagrin,  and  searching 
her  own  mind  for  Antonia's  excuse.  "  We 
brought  a  half-starved  baby  home  from  our 
last  expedition,  and  it  lies  dead  upstairs. 
Women  have  soft  hearts,  monsieur :  they 
cannot  see  such  sights  unmoved.  She  hath 
lost  command  of  herself  to-nisht." 


^ 


I 


:  I 
1:  ■ 


h:H 


^!|; 


»  ', 


''  i 


^1 


t 


m  ^:^ 


62 


THE   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


m 


»  i:! 


ill 


■I  ,1 


Van  Corlaer's  face  lightened  with  tender- 
ness. Bachelor  though  he  was,  he  had  held 
infants  in  his  hands  for  baptism,  and  not 
only  the  children  of  Fort  Orange  but  dark 
broods  of  the  Mohawks  often  rubbed  about 
his  knees. 

*'  You  brought  your  men  into  the  fort, 
Monsieur  Corlaer  ?  " 

"No,  madame.  I  sent  them  back  to 
camp  by  the  falls.  We  are  well  provi- 
sioned. And  there  was  no  need  for  them  to 
come  within  the  walls." 

"  If  you  lack  anything  I  hoj^e  you  will 
command  it  of  us." 

"  Madame,  you  are  already  too  bounte- 
ous ;  and  we  lack  nothing." 

"  The  Sieur  de  la  Tour  being  away,  the 
conduct  and  honor  of  this  fort  are  left  in 
my  hands.  And  he  has  himself  ever  been 
friendly  to  the  peoi^le  of  the  colonies." 

"  That  is  well  known,  madame." 

Soft  waxlight,  the  ample  shine  of  the 
fire,  trained  service,  and  housing  from  the 
chill  spring  night,  abundant  food  and  flask, 


THE   WIDOW  ANTON  I  A. 


63 


all  failed  to  bring  up  the  spirits  of  Van 
Corlaer.  Antonia  did  not  return  to  the 
table.  The  servingnien  went  and  came  be- 
twixt hall  and  cookhouse.  Every  time  one 
of  them  opened  the  door,  the  world  of 
darkness  peered  in,  and  over  the  night  quiet 
of  the  fort  could  be  heard  the  tidid  up-rush 
of  the  river. 

"The  men  can  now  bring  our  ship  to 
anchor,"  observed  Marie.  Father  Jogues 
and  his  donne,  eating  with  the  habitual  self- 
denial  of  men  who  must  inure  themselves  to 
hunger,  still  spoke  with  Van  Corlaer  about 
their  mission.  But  during  all  his  talk  he 
furtively  watched  the  stairway. 

The  dwarf  sat  on  her  accustomed  stool 
beside  her  lady,  picking  \\\)  bits  from  a 
well  heaped  silver  platter  on  her  knees ; 
and  she  watched  Van  Corlaer's  discomfiture 
when  Lady  Dorinda  took  him  in  hand  and 
Antonia  yet  remained  away. 


If 


n 


f  M 


ill 


ffT 


V. 


i   ■' 


JONAS   BRONCK's   hand. 

The  guests  had  deserted  the  hall  fire  and 
a  sentinel  was  set  for  the  night  before 
Madame  La  Tour  knocked  at  Antonia's 
door. 

Antonia  was  slow  to  open  it.  But  she 
finally  let  Marie  into  her  chamber,  where 
the  fire  had  died  on  the  hearth,  and  retired 
again  behind  the  screen  to  continue  dabbinjr 
her  face  with  water.  The  candle  was  also 
behind  the  screen,  and  it  threw  out  An- 
tonia's shadow,  and  showed  her  disordered 
flax-white  hair  flung  free  of  its  cap  and  fall- 
ing to  its  length.  Marie  sat  down  in  the 
little  world  of  shadow  outside  the  screen. 
The  joists  directly  above  Antonia  flickered 
with  the  flickering  light.  One  window 
high  in  the  wall  showed  the  misty  darkness 


JONAS   BRO NCR'S   HAND. 


65 


which  lay  upon  Funcly  Bay.  The  room  was 
chilly. 

"  Monsieur  Corlaer  is  gone,  Antonia," 
said  Marie. 

Antonia's  shadow  leaped,  magnifying  the 
young  Dutchwoman's  start. 

"  Madame,  you  have  not  sent  him  off  on 
his  journey  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  I  sent  him  not.  I  begged  him  to  re- 
main. But  he  had  such  cold  welcome  from 
his  own  countrywoman  that  he  chose  the 
woods  rather  than  the  hospitality  of  Fort 
St.  John." 

Much  as  Antonia  stirred  and  clinked 
flasks,  her  sobs  grew  audible  behind  the 
screen.  She  ran  out  with  her  arms  extended 
and  threw  herself  on  the  floor  at  Marie's 
knees,  transformed  by  anguish.  Marie  in 
full  compassion  drew  the  girlish  creature  to 
her  breast,  repenting  herself  while  Antonia 
wept  and  shook. 

"  I  was  cruel  to  say  Monsieur  Corlaer  is 
gone.  He  has  only  left  the  fortress  to  camp 
with  his  men  at  the  falls.     lie  will  be  here 


? 


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THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


I 


\i  -^ 


I  '< 


two  more  days,  and  to-morrow  you  must 
urge  him  to  stay  our  guest." 

"  Madame,  I  dare  not  see  him  at  all !  " 

"But  why  should  you  not  see  Monsieur 
Corlaer  ?  " 

Antonia  settled  to  the  floor  and  rested 
her  head  and  arms  on  her  friend's  lap. 

''  For  you  love  him." 

"  O  madame,  I  did  not  show  that  I  loved 
him  ?  No.  It  would  he  horrible  for  me  to 
love  him." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  And  it  is  plain  he 
has  come  to  court  you." 

"  He  has  long  courted  me,  madame." 

"  And  you  met  him  as  a  stranger  and 
fled  from  him  as  a  wolf !  —  this  Ilollandais 
gentleman  who  hath  saved  our  French  peo- 
ple —  even  priests  —  from  the  savages !  " 

"  All  New  Amsterdam  and  Fort  Orange 
hold  him  in  esteem,"  said  Antonia,  betray- 
ing pride.  "  I  have  heard  he  can  do  more 
with  the  Iroquois  tribes  than  any  other  man 
of  the  New  World."  She  uselessly  wiped 
her  eyes.     She  was  weak  from  long  crying. 


JOXAS  BliOXCK'ti  HAND. 


07 


"  Then  why  do  you  run  from  him  ?  " 
'*  Because  he  liiith  too  witching  a  power 
on  me,  madame.  I  cannot  spin  or  knit  or 
sew  when  ho  is  by;  I  must  needs  watch 
every  motion  of  liis  if  he  once  fastens  my 
eves." 

"  I  have  noticed  lie  draws  one's  heart," 
laughed  Marie. 

"lie  does.  It  is  like  witchcraft.  He 
sets  me  afloat  so  that  I  lose  my  feet  and 
have  scarce  any  will  of  my  own.  I  never 
was  so  disturbed  by  my  husband  Jonas 
Bronck,"  complained  Antonia. 

*'  Did  you  love  your  husband  ?  "  inquired 
Marie. 

"  We  always  love  our  husbands,  madame. 
Mynheer  Bronck  was  very  good  to  me." 

"  You  have  never  told  me  much  of  Mon- 
sieur Bronck,  Antonia." 

"  I  don't  like  to  speak  of  him  now,  ma- 
dame.    It  makes  me  shiver." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  I  was  never  afraid  of  him  living.  I  re- 
garded him  as  a  father." 


I 


'  .;• 


t    .' 


68  Tilt:  LADY   OF  FOliT  ST.  JOHN. 

"  But  one's  husbaiul  is  not  to  be  regarded 
as  a  father." 

*'  lie  was  old  enough  to  be  my  father, 
madame.  I  was  not  more  than  sixteen,  be- 
sides being  an  orphan,  and  Mynlieer  Bronck 
was  above  fifty,  yet  he  married  me,  and 
became  the  best  husband  in  the  colony.  lie 
was  far  from  putting  me  in  such  states  as 
Mynlieer  Van  Corlaer  does." 

"  The  difference  is  that  you  love  Monsieur 
Corlaer." 

"  Do  not  speak  that  word,  madame." 

"  Would  you  have  him  marry  another 
woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  spoke  Antonia  in  a  stoical  voice, 
"  if  that  pleased  him  best.  I  should  then 
be  driven  to  no  more  voyages.  He  followed 
me  to  New  Amsterdam ;  and  I  ventured  on 
a  long  journey  to  Boston,  where  I  had  kins- 
people,  as  you  know.  But  there  I  must 
have  broken  down,  madame,  if  I  had  not 
met  you  It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  the 
English  captain  brought  you  out  of  your 
course.     For  mynheer  set  out  to  follow  me 


JONAS  liliONCK'S  HAND. 


t;9 


there.  And  now  he  hcas  come  across  the 
wilderness  even  to  this  fort !  " 

"  Confess,"  said  Marie,  giving  her  a  little 
shake,  "how  pleased  you  are  with  such  a 
determined  lover !  " 

But  instead  of  doing  this,  Antonia  burst 
again  into  frenzied  sobbing  and  liugged  her 
comforter. 

"  O  madame,  you  are  the  only  person  I 
dare  love  in  the  world  I  " 

Marie  smoothed  the  young  widow's  damp 
hair  with  the  quieting  stroke  which  calms 
children. 

"  Let  mother  help  thee,"  she  said ;  and 
neither  of  them  remembered  that  she  was 
scarcely  as  old  as  Antonia.  In  love  and 
motherhood,  in  military  peril,  and  contact 
with  riper  civilizations,  to  say  nothing  of 
inherited  experience,  the  lady  of  St.  John 
had  lived  far  beyond  Antonia  Bronck. 

"  Your  husband  made  you  take  an  oath 
not  to  wed  again,  —  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  No,  madame,  he  never  did." 

"  Yet  you    told    me    he    left    you   his 


If 


.1*1 

'■I 

•  '  I 


!  ' 


money 


9" 


t     M 


70 


THE   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


"  Yes.  He  was  very  good  to  me.  For  I 
had  neither  father  nor  mother." 

"  And  he  bound  you  by  no  promise  ?'* 

"  None  at  all,  raadame." 

"  AVhat,  then,  can  you  find  to  break  your 
heart  upon  in  the  suit  of  Monsieur  Corlaer  ? 
You  arc  free.  Even  as  my  lord  —  if  I 
were  dead  —  would  be  free  to  marry  any 
one  ;  not  excepting  D'Aulnay's  widow." 

Marie  smiled  at  that  improbable  union. 

"  No,  I  do  not  feel  free."  Antonia  shiv- 
ered close  to  her  friend's  knees.  "  Madame, 
I  cannot  tell  you.  But  I  will  show  you  the 
token." 

"  Show  me  the  token,  therefore.  And  a 
sound  token  it  must  be,  to  hold  you  wedded 
to  a  dead  man  whom  in  life  you  regarded  as 
a  father." 

Antonia  rose  upon  her  feet,  but  stood 
dver.ding  the  task  before  her. 

"  I  have  to  look  at  it  once  every  month," 
she  explained,  *'  and  I  have  looked  at  it  once 
this  month  already." 

The  dim  chill  room  with  its  one  eye  fixed 


JONAS  BJiONCK'S   HAND. 


71 


on  darkness  was  an  eddy  in  which  a  single 
human  mind  resisted  that  century's  'Current 
of  supei'vStition*  IMarie  sat  ready  to  judge 
and  destroy  whatever  spell  the  cunning  old 
Ilollandais  had  left  on  a  giiO  to  whom  he 
represented  law  and  famil;y. 

Antonia  beckoned  her  behind  the  screen, 
and  took  from  some  ready  hiding-place  a 
small  oak  box  studded  with  nails,  which 
Marie  had  never  before  seen.  How  alien 
to  the  simple  and  open  life  of  the  Dutch 
widow  was  this  secret  coffer  !  Her  face 
changed  while  she  looked  at  it ;  grieved 
girlhood  passed  into  sunken  age.  Her  lips 
turned  wax-whito,  and  droofxid  at  the  cor- 
ners. She  set  the  box  on  a  dressing-table 
beside  the  candle,  unlocked  it  and  turned 
back  the  lid.  Marie  was  repelled  by  a  faint 
odor  aside  from  its  breath  of  dead  spices. 

Antonia  unfolded  a  linen  cloth  and 
showed  a  pallid  human  hand,  its  stump  con- 
cealed by  a  napkin.  It  was  <;unningly  pre- 
served, and  shrunken  only  by  the  countless 
lines  which  denote  aj^proaching  age.    It  was 


72 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


M 


the  right  hand  of  a  man  who  must  have  liad 
imagination.  The  fingers  were  sensitively 
slim,  with  shapely  blue  nails,  and  without 
knobs  or  swollen  joints.  It  was  a  crafty, 
firm-possessing  hand,  ready  to  spring  from 
its  nest  to  seize  and  eternally  hold  you. 

The  lady  of  St.  John  had  seen  human 
fragments  scattered  by  cannon,  and  sword 
and  bullet  had  done  their  work  before  her 
sight.  But  a  faintness  beyond  the  touch  of 
peril  made  her  grasp  the  table  and  turn 
from  that  ghastly  hand. 

"  It  cannot  be,  Antonia  "  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  Mynheer  Bronck's  hand," 
whispered  Antonia,  subduing  herself  to  take 
admonition  from  the  grim  digits. 

"  Lock  it  up ;  and  come  directly  away 
from  it.  Come  out  of  this  room.  You 
have  opened  a  grave  here." 


VI. 


THE  MENDING. 


T"? 


But  Autonia  delayed  to  set  in  order  her 
Iiair  and  cap  and  all  her  methodical  habits 
of  life.  When  Jonas  Bronck's  hand  was 
^rrigly  locked  in  its  case  and  no  longer 
obliged  her  to  look  at  it,  she  took  a  pensive 
pleasure  in  the  relic,  bred  of  usage  to  its 
company.  She  came  out  of  her  chamber 
erect  and  calm.  Marie  was  at  the  stairs 
speaking  to  the  soldier  stationed  in  the  hall 
below.  He  had  just  piled  up  his  fire,  and 
its  homely  splendor  sent  bock  to  remoteness 
all  human  dreads.  lie  hurried  up  the  stair- 
way to  his  lady. 

"  (jro  knock  at  the  door  of  the  priest, 
Father  Jogues,  and  demand  his  cassock," 
she  said. 

The  man  halted,  and  asked,  — 


m 


M 


t  r' 


,     i 


13 


74    THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

-  What  shall  I  do  with  it  ?  " 

''  Brine:  it  hither  to  me." 

"  But  if  lie  refuses  to  have  it  brought  ?  " 

"  The  good  man  will  not  refuse.  Yet  if 
he  asks  wliy,"  said  Madame  La  Tour  smil- 
ing, "  tell  him  it  is  the  custom  of  the  house 
to  take  away  at  night  the  cassock  of  any 
priest  who  stays  here." 

"Yes,  niadame." 

The  soldier  kept  to  himself  his  opinion 
of  meddling  with  black  gowns,  and  after 
some  parleying  at  the  door  of  Father 
Jogues'  apartment,  received  the  garment 
and  brought  it  to  his  lady. 

"  Wo  will  take  our  needles  and  sit  by  the 
hall  fire,"  said  ]\Iarie  to  Antonia.  "Did 
you  note  the  ragged noss  of  Father  Jogues' 
cassock  ?  I  am  an  enemy  to  papists,  es- 
pecially D'Aidnay  de  Cliarnisay ;  but  who 
can  harden  her  heart  against  a  saint  be- 
cause he  patters  prayers  on  a  rosary  ? 
Thou  and  I  will  mend  his  black  gown.  I 
cannot  see  even  a  transient  member  of  iny 
household  uncomfortable." 


T 


THE  MENDING. 


75 


The  soldier  put  two  waxliglits  on  the 
table  by  the  hearth,  and  withdrc"/  to  the 
stairway.  He  was  there  to  guard  as  pris- 
oner the  priest  for  whom  his  lady  set  her- 
self to  work.  She  drew  her  chair  to  An- 
tonia's  and  they  spread  the  cassock  between 
them.  It  had  been  neatly  beaten  and 
picked  clear  of  burrs,  but  the  rents  in  it 
were  astonishing.  Even  within  sumptuous 
fireshine  the  black  cloth  taxed  sight;  and 
Marie  paused  sometimes  to  curtain  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  but  Antonia  worked  on 
with  Dutch  steadiness.  Tho  tench  of  a 
needle  within  a  woman's  fingers  cools  all 
her  fevers.  She  stitches  herself  fast  to  the 
race.  There  is  safety  and  saneness  in 
needlework. 

"  This  spot  wants  a  patch,"  said  An- 
tonia. 

"  Weave  it  together  with  stitches,"  said 
Marie.  '"  Daughter  of  presumption  !  would 
you  add  to  the  gown  of  a  Roman  i)riest?  " 

••'  Priest  or  dominie,"  commented  Antonia, 
biting  a  fresh  thread,  "  he  Vvould  be  none 


■I ' 


i 


I 


76 


THE  LADY  OF   FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


m 


the  worse  for  a  stout  piece  of  cloth  to  his 
garment." 

"  But  we  have  naught  to  match  witli  it. 
I  woukl  like  to  set  in  a  little  heresy  cut 
from  one  of  the  Sieur  cle  la  Tour's  good 
Huguenot  douhlets." 

The  girlish  faces,  bent  opposite,  grew 
placid  with  domestic  interest.  Marie's 
cheeks  ripened  by  the  fire,  but  the  whiter 
Ilollandaise  warmed  only  through  the  lips. 
This  hall's  glow  made  more  endurable  the 
image  of  Jonas  Bronck's  hand.  **  When 
was  it  cut  off,  Antonia  ?  "  murmured  Marie, 
stopping  to  thread  a  needle. 

The  percejitible  blight  again  fell  over 
Antonla's  face  r^  she  replied,  — 

"  After  he  had  been  one  day  dead." 

"  Then  he  did  not  grimly  lop  it  off  him- 
self ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  whispered  Antonia  with  deep 
sighing.  "  Mynheer  the  doctor  did  that, 
on  his  oath  to  my  husband.  He  was  the 
most  learned  cunning  man  in  medicine  that 
ever  came  to  our  colony.     He  kept  the  hand 


THE   MENDING. 


11 


II  month  in  his  furnace  before  it  was  ready 
to  send  to  me." 

"  Did  Monsieur  Bronck,  before  he  died, 
tell  you  his  intention  to  do  this  ?  "  pressed 
Marie,  feeling  less  interest  in  the  Dutch 
cmbalmer's  method  than  in  the  sinuous  mo- 
tive of  a  man  who  could  leave  such  a  be- 
quest. 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  I  do  marvel  at  such  an  act !  "  mur- 
mured the  lady  of  St.  John,  challenging 
Jonas  Bronck's  loyal  widow  to  take  up  his 
instant  defense. 

"  Madame,  he  was  obliged  to  do  it  by  a 
dream  he  had." 

"  He  dreamed  that  his  hand  would  keep 
off  intruders  ?  "  smiled  Marie. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Antonia  innocently, 
"  and  all  manner  of  evil  fortune.  I  have 
to  look  at  it  once  a  month  as  long  as  I  live, 
and  carry  it  with  me  everywhere.  If  it 
should  be  lost  or  destroyed  trouble  and  ruin 
would  fall  not  only  on  me  but  on  every  one 
who  loved  me." 


Hi 


ft- 


-*-. 

m 


k  1 


78  TJI£  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

The  woman  of  larger  knowledge  did  not 
argue  against  this  credulity.  Antonia  was 
of  the  provinces,  bred  out  of  their  darkest 
hours  of  superstition  and  savage  danger. 
But  it  was  easy  to  see  how  Jonas  Bronck's 
hand  must  hold  his  widow  from  second 
marriage.  What  lover  could  she  ask  to 
share  her  monthly  gaze  upon  it,  and  thus 
half  realize  the  continued  fleshly  existence 
of  Jonas  Bronck  ?  The  rite  was  in  its  na- 
ture a  secret  one.  Shame,  gratitude,  the 
former  usages  of  her  life,  aiul  a  thousand 
other  influences,  were  yet  in  the  grij^  of  that 
rigid  hand.  And  if  slie  lost  or  destroyed 
it,  nameless  and  weird  calamity,  foreseen 
by  a  dying  man,  must  light  upon  the  very 
lover  who  imdertook  to  separate  her  from 
her  ghastly  company. 

"  The  crafty  old  Ilollandais  !  "  thought 
Marie.  "  He  was  cunning  in  his  know- 
ledge of  Antonia.  But  he  hath  made  up 
this  fist  at  a  younger  Ilollandiis  who  will 
scarce  stop  for  dead  hands." 

The  Dutch  gentlewoman  snuffed  both  wax- 


' 


THE  MENDING. 


79 


lights.  Her  lips  were  drawn  in  grieved 
lines.  Marie  glanced  up  at  one  of  the  por- 
traits on  the  wall,  and  said  :  — 

"  The  agonies  which  men  inflict  on  the 
beings  they  love  best,  must  work  perpetual 
astonishment  in  heaven.  Look  at  the  Sieur 
Claude  de  la  Tour,  a  noble  of  France  who 
could  stoop  to  be<*oiiie  the  first  English 
knight  of  Acadia,  forcing  his  own  son  to 
take  up  arms  against  him." 

The  elder  La  Tour  frowned  and  flickered 
in  his  frame. 

"  Yet  he  had  a  gracious  presence,"  said 
Antonia.  "LadyDorinda  says  he  was  the 
handsomest  man  at  the  Eu'ilish  court." 

"  I  doubt  it  not ;  the  La  Tours  are  a 
beautiful  race.  And  it  was  that  very  gra- 
ciousness  which  made  him  a  weak  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  the  English.  They  mar- 
ried him  to  one  of  the  o  leen's  ladies,  and 
granted  him  all  Acadia,  ''  iiich  he  had  only 
to  demand  from  his  s  .1,  if  he  v/ould  turn 
it  over  to  England  and  declare  himself  an 
English  subject.     I  can  yet  see  his  ships  as 


;  . 


m 


».»  ••^■*.i.«iaiii 


80 


Till-:   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


\i 


they  roundutl  Cape  Sable;  and  the  face  of 
my  lord  when  he  read  his  father's  summons 
to  surrender  tho  claims  of  France.  We 
were  to  bo  loaded  with  honors.  France 
had  driven  us  out  on  account  of  our  faith  ; 
England  opened  her  arms.  We  should  be 
enriched,  and  live  forever  a  happy  and 
united  family,  sole  lords  of  Acadia." 

Marie  broke  off  another  thread. 

"  The  king  of  France,  who  has  outlawed 
my  husband  and  delivered  him  to  his  enemy, 
should  have  seen  him  then,  Antonia.  Sieur 
Claude  La  Tour  put  both  arms  around  him 
and  pleaded.  It  was,  '  My  little  Charles, 
do  not  disgrace  me  by  refusal ; '  and  '  My 
father,  I  love  you,  but  here  I  represent  the 
rights  of  France.'  '  The  king  of  France  is 
no  friend  of  ours,'  says  Sieur  Claude. 
'  Whether  he  rewards  or  punishes  me,'  says 
Charles,  '  this  iDrovince  belongs  to  my  coun- 
try, and  I  will  hold  it  while  I  have  life  to 
defend  it.'  And  he  was  obliged  to  turn  his 
cannon  against  his  own  father ;  and  the 
ships  were  disabled  and  driven  off." 


|! 


Tin:  MKMJiSa. 


81 


"  Was  tlio  old  niyiiliL'or  killed  ?  " 

"  His  pride  was  killed.  He  could  never 
hold  up  his  head  in  England  again,  and  he 
had  betrayed  France.  My  lord  built  him  a 
house  outside  our  fort,  yet  neither  could  he 
endure  Acadia.  He  died  in  England.  You 
know  I  brought  his  widow  thence  with  me 
last  year.  She  should  have  her  dower  of 
hinds  here,  if  we  can  hold  them  against 
D'Anlnay  de  Charnisay." 

The  lady  of  the  fort  shook  out  Father 
Jogues'  cassock  and  rose  from  the  mending. 
Antonia  picked  up  their  tools  arid  flicked 
bits  of  thread  from  her  skirt. 

*'  I  am  glad  it  is  done,  raadame,  for  you 
look  heavy-eyed,  as  any  one  ought  after 
tossing  two  nights  on  Fundy  Bay  and  sew- 
ing on  a  black  gown  until  midnight  cock- 
crow of  the  third." 

*•  I  am  not  now  fit  to  face  a  siege,"  owned 
Marie.  "We  must  get  to  bed.  Though 
first  I  crave  one  more  look  at  the  dead  baby 
Zelie  hath  in  charge.  There  is  a  soft  weak- 
ness in  me  which  mothers  even  the  outcast 
young  of  my  enemy." 


51 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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•1 


VII. 


A   FRONTIER  GRAVEYARD. 


\  i 


1 1  i 


The  next  morning  was  gray  and  trans- 
parent :  a  hemisphere  of  mist  filled  with 
light ;  a  world  of  vapor  palpitating  with 
some  indwelling  spirit.  That  lonesome  lap 
of  country  opposite  Fort  St.  John  could 
scarcely  be  defined.  Scraps  of  its  dawning 
spring  color  showed  through  the  mobile 
winding  and  ascending  veil.  Trees  rose 
out  of  the  lowlands  between  the  fort  and 
the  falls. 

Van  Corlaer  was  in  the  gorge,  watching 
that  miracle  worked  every  day  in  St.  John 
River.  The  tide  was  racing  inland.  The 
steep  rapids  within  .their  throat  of  rock 
were  clear  of  fog.  Foam  is  the  flower  of 
water ;  and  white  petal  after  white  petal 
was  swept  under  by  the  driving  waves.     As 


A  FRONTIER  GRAVEYARD.  83 

the  title  rose  the  tiiniiilt  of  falls  ceased. 
The  channel  filled.  All  rocks  were  drowned. 
For  a  brief  time  another  ship  could  have 
passed  up  that  natural  lock,  as  La  Tour's 
ship  had  passed  on  the  cream-smooth  current 
at  flood  tide  the  day  before. 

Van  Corlaer  could  not  see  its  ragged  sails 
around  the  breast  of  rock,  but  the  hammer- 
ing of  its  repairers  had  been  in  his  ears 
since  dawn ;  and  through  the  subsiding  wash 
of  water  he  now  heard  men's  voices. 

The  Indians  whose  village  he  had  joined 
were  that  morning  breaking  up  camp  to  be- 
gin their  spring  pilgrimage  down  the  coast 
along  various  fishing  haunts  ;  for  agricul- 
ture was  a  thing  unknown  to  these  savages. 
They  were  a  seafaring  people  in  canoes. 
At  that  time  even  invading  Europeans  had 
gained  little  mastery  of  the  soil.  Camp  and 
fortress  were  on  the  same  side  of  the  river. 
Lounging  braves  watched  indifferently  some 
figures  wading  fog  from  the  fort,  perhaps 
bringing  them  a  farewell  word,  perhaps  for- 
bidding their  departure.     The  Indian  often 


I' 


I 


1:1 


il 


■i 


84 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


humored  his  invader's  feudal  airs,  but  he 
never  owned  the  mastery  of  any  white  man. 
Squaws  took  down  cone-shaped  tents,  while 
their  half-naked  babies  sprawled  in  play 
upon  the  ashes  of  last  winter's  fires.  Van 
Corlaer's  men  sauntered  through  the  van- 
ishing town,  trying  at  times  to  strike  some 
spark  of  information  from  Dutch  and 
Etchemin  jargon. 

Near  the  river  bank,  between  camp  and 
fort,  was  an  alluvial  spot  in  which  the  shovel 
found  no  rock.  A  rough  line  of  piled  stones 
severed  it  from  surrounding  lands,  and  a 
few  ti'ees  stood  there,  promising  summer 
shade,  though,  darkly  moist  along  every 
budded  twig,  they  now  swayed  in  tuneless 
nakedness.  Here  the  dead  of  Fort  St.  John 
were  buried  ;  and  those  approaching  figures 
entered  a  gap  of  the  inclosure  instead  of 
going  on  to  the  camp.  Three  of  La  Tour's 
soldiers,  with  Father  Jogues  and  his  donne, 
had  come  to  bury  the  outcast  baby.  One 
of  the  men  was  Zelie's  husband,  and  she 
walked  beside   him.     Marguerite   lay  sulk- 


A  FRONTlEIt  GRAVEYARD. 


85 


ing  in  the  barracks.  The  lady  had  asked 
Father  Jogues  to  consecrate  with  the  rites 
of  his  church  the  burial  of  this  little  victim 
probably  born  into  his  faith.  But  he  would 
have  followed  it  in  any  case,  with  that  in- 
stinct which  drove  him  to  baptize  dying 
Indian  children  with  rain-droi)s  and  at- 
tempt to  pluck  converts  from  the  tortures 
of  the  stake. 

"  Has  this  child  been  baptized  ?  "  he  in- 
quired of  Zelie  on  the  path  down  from  the 
fort. 

She  answered,  shedding  tears  of  resent- 
ment against  Marguerite,  and  with  fervor 
she  could  not  restrain,  — 

"  I  '11  warrant  me  it  never  had  so  much 
as  a  drop  of  water  on  its  head,  and  but  lit- 
tle to  its  body,  before  my  lady  took  it." 

"But  hath  it  not  believing  parents  ?  " 

"  Our  Swiss  says,"  stated  Zelie,  with  a 
respectful  heretic's  sparing  of  this  priest, 
"  that  it  is  the  child  of  D'Aulnay  de  Char- 
nisay."  And  she  added  no  comment.  The 
soldiers  set  their  spades  to  last  year's  sod, 


li, 
ii 


w 


I 
I 


m 


8G  TJIE  LADY  OF  FORT  HT.  JOHN. 

cut  an  oblong  wound,  and  soon  had  the 
earth  heaped  out  and  a  grave  made.  Father 
Jogues,  perplexed,  and  heavy  of  heart  for 
the  sins  of  his  enlightened  as  well  as  his 
savage  children,  concluded  to  conseerate  the 
baby's  bed.  The  Huguenot  soldiers  stood 
sullenly  by  while  a  Komish  serviee  went 
on.  They  or  their  fathers  had  been  driven 
out  of  France  by  the  bitterness  of  that  very 
religion  which  Father  Jogues  expressed  in 
sweetness.  They  had  not  the  broad  sym- 
pathy of  their  lady,  who  could  excuse  and 
even  stooj)  to  mend  a  priest's  cassoek  ;  and 
they  made  their  pause  as  brief  as  possible. 

While  the  S2)at  and  clink  of  spades  built 
up  one  child's  hillock,  Zelie  was  on  her 
knees  beside  another  some  distance  from  it, 
scraping  away  dead  leaves.  Her  lady  had 
bid  her  look  how  this  grave  fared,  and  she 
noticed  fondly  that  fern  was  beginning  to 
curl  above  the  buried  lad's  head.  The  heir 
of  the  La  Tours  lay  with  his  feet  toward 
the  outcast  of  the  Charnisays,  but  this  was 
a   chance   arrangement.     Soldiers   and  ser- 


■ 


A  FRONTIER   GRAVEYARD.  87 

vants  of  the  house  were  scattered  about  the 
frontier  burial  ground,  and  Zelie  noted  to 
report  to  her  lady  that  winter  had  i)artly 
effaced  and  driven  below  the  sui-facc  some 
recent  graves.  Instead  of  being  marked  by 
a  cross,  each  earthen  door  had  a  narrow 
frame  of  river  stones  built  around  it.    • 

Van  Corlaer  left  the  drowned  falls  and 
passed  his  own  tents,  and  waited  outside  the 
knee-high  inclosure  for  Father  Jogues.  The 
missionary,  in  his  usual  halo  of  prayer, 
dwelt  upon  the  open  breviary.  Many  a 
tree  along  the  Mohawk  valley  yet  bore  the 
name  of  Jesu  which  he  had  carved  in  its 
bark,  as  well  as  rude  crosses.  Such  marks 
helped  him  to  turn  the  woods  into  one  wide 
oratory.  But  unconverted  savages,  tearing 
with  their  teeth  the  hands  lifted  up  in  sup- 
plication for  them,  had  scarcely  taxed  his 
heart  as  heretics  and  sinful  believers  taxed 
it  now.  The  soldiers,  having  finished,  took 
up  their  tools,  and  Van  Corlaer  joined 
Father  Jogues  as  the  party  came  out  of  the 
cemetery. 


m 
1 

|| 

:    S   h 

'<  tin 
'ill 


vli 


88 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


The  day  was  brightening.  Some  sea- 
birds  were  spreading  their  white  breasts 
and  wing  -  linings  like  flashes  of  silver 
against  shifting  vapor.  The  party  de- 
scended to  a  wrinkle  in  the  land  which 
woidd  be  dry  at  ebb-tide.  Now  it  held  a 
stream  flowing  inland  upon  grass  —  un- 
shriveled  long  grass  bowed  flat  and  sleeked 
to  this  daily  service.  It  gave  beholJ  rs  a 
delicious  sensation  to  see  the  clean  water 
rushing  up  so  verdant  a  course.  A  log 
which  would  seem  a  misplaced  and  useless 
foot-bridge  when  the  tide  was  out,  was 
crossed  by  one  after  another;  and  as  Van 
Corlaer  fell  back  to  step  beside  Father 
Jogues,  he  said  :  — 

"  The  Abenakis  take  to  the  woods  and 
desert  their  Ashing,  and  these  Etchemins 
leave  the  woods  and  take  to  the  coast.  You 
never  know  where  to  have  your  savage. 
Did  you  note  that  the  village  was  mov- 
ing ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  that.  Monsieur  Corlaer  ;  and 
T  nuist  now  take  leave  of  the  lady  of  the 
fort  and  join  myself  to  them." 


A    FRONTIER  GRAVEYARD. 


89 


"  If  you  do  you  will  give  deep  offense  to 
La  Tour,"  said  the  Dutchman,  pusliing 
back  some  strands  of  light  hair  which  had 
fallen  over  his  forehead,  and  turning  his 
great  near-sighted  eyes  on  his  friend. 
*' These  Indians  are  called  Protestant. 
They  are  in  La  Tour's  grant.  TIiou  know- 
est  that  he  and  D'Aulnay  do  Charnisay 
have  enough  to  quarrel  about  without  draw- 
ing churchmen  into  their  broil." 

Father  Jogues  trod  on  gently.  He  knew 
he  could  not  travel  with  any  benighted  soul 
and  not  try  to  convert  it.  These  poor  Et- 
chemins  appealed  to  his  conscienc»^. ;  but  so 
did  the  gracious  lady  of  the  fort. 

"  If  I  could  mend  the  rents  in  her  faith," 
he  sighed,  "  as  she  hath  mended  the  rents 
in  my  cassock  !  " 

Two  of  the  soldiers  turned  aside  with 
their  spades  to  a  slope  behind  the  fortress, 
where  there  was  a  stable  for  the  ponies  and 
horned  cattle,  and  where  last  year's  garden 
beds  lay  blackened  under  last  year's  refuse 
growth.    Having  planted  the  immortal  seed, 


11 


I 


t 

i 


90 


77/ A-   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JO/LW. 


their  next  duty  was  to  prepare  for  the 
trivial  resurrections  of  the  summer.  French- 
men love  green  messes  in  their  soup.  The 
garden  might  be  trampled  by  besiegers,  but 
there  were  other  chances  that  it  would  yield 
something.  Zclie's  husband  climbed  the 
height  to  escort  the  priest  and  report  to  his 
lady,  but  he  had  his  wife  to  chatter  beside 
him.  Father  Jogues'  donne  walked  behind 
Van  Corlaer,  and  he  alone  overheard  the 
Dutchman's  talk. 

"This  lady  of  Fort  St.  John,  Father 
Jognes,  so  housed,  and  so  gi'ound  between 
the  millstones  of  La  Tour  and  D'Aulnay  — 
she  hath  wrought  up  my  mind  until  I  could 
not  forbear  this  journey.  It  is  well  known 
throuijh  the  colonies  that  lia  Tour  can  no 
longer  get  help,  and  is  outlawed  by  his 
king.  This  fortress  will  be  sacked.  La 
Tour  would  best  stay  at  home  to  defend  his 
own.  But  what  can  any  other  man  do  ? 
I  am  here  to  defend  my  own,  and  I  will 
take  it  and  defend  it." 

Van  Corlaer  looked  up  at  the  walls,  and 


>r 


A  FRONTIER   I!  RAVE  YARD. 


91 


his  chest  swelled  with  a  large  breath  of  re- 
gret. 

"God  lie  knoweth  why  so  sweet  a  lady 
is  set  here  to  bear  the  brunts  of  a  frontier 
fortress,  where  no  man  can  aid  her  without 
espousing  her  husband's  quarrel !  —  while 
hundreds  of  evil  women  degrade  the  courts 
of  Europe.  Ihit  I  can  only  do  mine  errand 
and  go.  And  you  will  best  mend  your  own 
expedition  at  this  time  by  a  new  start  from 
Montreal,  Father  Jogues." 

The  priest  turned  around  on  the  ascent 
and  looked  toward  the  vanishing  Indian 
cam}).  He  was  examining  as  self-indulgence 
his  strong  and  gentlemanly  desire  not  to  in- 
volve Madame  La  Tour  in  further  troubles 
by  proselyting  her  people. 

*'  AVhatever  way  is  pointed  out  to  me, 
Monsieur  Corlaer,"  he  answered,  "  that  way 
I  must  take.  For  the  mending  of  an  expe- 
dition rests  not  in  the  hands  of  the  poor 
instrument  that  attempts  it." 

Their  soldier  signaled  for  the  gates  to  be 
opened,  and  they  entered  the  fort.     Marie 


I 


m 


'  i 


I'  i 


'A 


92 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


I   ■ 


was  on  her  morning  round  of  inspection. 
She  had  just  given  back  to  a  guard  the  key 
of  the  powder  magazine.  Well,  storehouse, 
fuel-house,  barracks,  were  in  military  readi- 
ness. But  refuse  stuff  had  been  thrown  in 
spots  which  her  people  were  now  severely 
cleaning.  She  greeted  her  returning  guests, 
and  heard  the  report  of  Zelie's  husband.  A 
lace  mantle  was  drawn  over  her  head  and 
fastened  under  the  chin,  throwing  out  from 
its  blackness  the  warm  brown  beauty  of  her 
face. 

"  So  our  Indians  are  leaving  the  falls  al- 
ready?" she  repeated,  fixing  Zelie's  hus- 
band with  a  serious  eye. 

"Yes,  madame,"  witnessed  Zelie.  "I 
myself  saw  women  packing  tents." 

"  Have  they  heard  any  rumor  which 
scared  them  off  early,  —  our  good  lazy  Et- 
chemins,  who  hate  fighting  ?  " 

"No,  madame,"  Van  Corlaer  answered, 
being  the  only  person  who  came  directly 
from  the  camp,  "  I  think  not,  though  their 
language  is  not  clear  to  me  like  our  western 


A  FRONTIER    GRAVEYJ. 


98 


tongues.  It  is  simply  an  early  spring,  call- 
ing them  out." 

"  They  have  always  waited  until  Paques 
week  heretofore,"  she  remembered.  But 
the  wandering  forth  of  an  irresponsible  vil- 
lage had  littlo  to  do  with  the  state  of  her 
fort.  She  was  going  upon  the  walls  to  look 
at  the  cannon,  and  asked  her  guests  to  go 
with  her. 

The  priest  and  his  donn(j  and  Van  Cor- 
laer  ascended  a  ladder,  and  Madame  La 
Tour  followed. 

"  I  do  not  often  climb  like  a  sailor,"  she 
said,  when  Van  Corlaer  gave  her  his  hand 
at  the  top.  "  There  is  a  flight  of  steps 
from  mine  own  chamber  to  the  level  of  the 
walls.  And  here  Madame  Bronck  and  I 
have  taken  the  air  on  winter  days  when  we 
felt  sure  of  its  not  blowing  us  away.  But 
you  need  not  look  sad  over  our  pleasures, 
monsieur.  We  have  had  many  a  sally 
out  of  this  fort,  and  monsieur  the  priest  will 
tell  you  there  is  great  freedom  on  snow- 
shoes." 


.  1 


n 


•4. 


111 


'I ' 


lift 


94       Tni:  lady  of  fort  st.  joiin. 

"  Madame  Bronck  has  allowed  herself 
little  freedom  since  I  came  to  Fort  St. 
John,"  observed  Van  Corlaer. 

They  all  walked  the  walls  from  bastion  to 
bastion,  and  Marie  examined  the  guns,  and 
spoke  witli  her  soldiers.  On  the  way  back 
Father  Jogues  and  Lalande  paused  to  watch 
the  Etchcmins  trail  away,  and  to  connnunc 
on  what  their  duty  directed  them  to  do. 
Marie  walked  on  with  Van  Corlaer  toward 
the  towered  bastion,  talking  quickly,  and  un- 
gloving  her  right  hand  to  help  his  imagina- 
tion with  it.  A  bar  of  sunlight  rested  with 
a  long  slant  through  vapor  on  the  fortress. 
Far  blue  distances  were  opened  on  the  bay. 
The  rippling  full  river  had  already  begun 
to  subside  and  sink  line  by  line  from  its 
island. 

Van  Corlaer  gave  no  attention  to  the 
beautiful  world,  lie  listened  to  Madame 
La  Tour  with  a  broadening  humorous  face 
and  the  invincible  port  of  a  man  who  knows 
nothing  of  defeat.  The  sentinel  trod  back 
and  forth   without   disturbing    this   intent 


A   FROyniCR  aUAVKYAIilJ.  95 

conference,  but  other  feet  came  rusliin<r  „,, 

the  stone  steps  wiiidi  let  from  Marie's  room 

to  tlie  level  of  tlie  wall. 

"  Madame  -  madamc  !  "    exclaimed   An- 

tonia  Bronek  ;  but  her  flaxen  head  was  ar- 
rested  in  ascent  beside  Van  Corlaer's  feet, 
and  her  distressed  eyes  met  in  his  a  wliinisi' 
cal  look  which  stung  her  through  with  sus^ 
picion  and  resentment. 


If 


{       ■' 


'& 


W  s. 


VIII. 


VAN  CORLAER. 


m 

la.. 


1    !■ 


"  What  is  it,  Antonia  ? "  demanded 
Marie. 

"  Madame,  it  is  nothing." 

Antonia  owned  her  suitor's  baring  of  his 
head,  and  turned  upon  the  stairs. 

"  But  some  alarm  drove  you  out." 

Marie  leaned  over  the  cell  inclosing  the 
stone  steps.  It  was  not  easy  to  judge  from 
Antonia's  erect  bearing  what  had  so  startled 
her.  Her  friend  followed  her  to  the  door 
below,  and  the  voices  of  the  two  women 
hummed  indistinctly  in  that  vault-like  hol- 
low. 

"You  have  told  him,"  accused  Antonia 
directly.  "  He  is  laughing  about  Mynheer 
Bronck's  hand ! " 

"  He  does  take   a  cheerful  view  of  the 


VAN  CORLAER.  97 

matter,"  conceded  the  lady  of  the  fort. 
Antonia  looked  at  her  with  all  the  asperity 
which  could  be  expressed  in  a  fair  Dutch 
face. 

"As  long  as  I  kept  my  trouble  to  myself 
I  could  bear  it.  But  I  show  it  to  another, 
and  the  worst  befalls  me." 

"  Is  that  hand  lost,  Antonia  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  find  it,  or  even  the  box  which 
held  it." 

"  Never  accuse  me  with  your  eye,"  said 
Marie  with  droll  pathos.  "If  it  were  lost 
or  destroyed  by  accident,  I  could  bear  with- 
out a  groan  to  see  you  so  bereaved.  But 
the  slightest  thing  shall  not  be  filched  in 
Fort  St.  John.  When  did  you  first  miss 
it?" 

"  A  half  hour  since.  I  left  the  box  on 
my  table  last  night  instead  of  replacing  it 
in  my  chest ;  —  being  so  disturbed." 

"  Every  room  shall  be  searched,"  said 
Marie.     "  Where  is  Le  Rossignol  ?  " 

"  She  went  after  breakfast  to  call  her 
swan  in  the  fort." 


II 


itl 


u 


m 


i 


I;  • 

'  i: 


98    THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

"  I  saw  her  not.  And  I  have  neglected 
to  send  her  to  the  turret  for  her  punish- 
ment. That  little  creature  has  a  magpie's 
fondness  for  plunder.  Perhaps  she  has  car- 
ried off  your  box.     I  will  send  for  her." 

Marie  left  the  room.  Antonia  lingered 
to  glance  through  a  small  square  pane  in 
the  door  —  an  eye  which  the  commandants 
of  the  fort  kept  on  their  battlements.  It 
had  an  inner  tap-^stry,  but  this  remained  as 
Marie  had  pushed  it  aside  that  morning  to 
take  her  early  look  at  the  widls.  Van  Cor- 
laer  was  waiting  on  the  steps,  and  as  he  de- 
tected Antonia  in  the  guilty  act  of  peeping 
at  him,  his  compelling  voice  reached  her  in 
Dutch.  She  returned  into  the  small  stone 
cell  formed  by  the  stairs,  and  closed  the 
door,  submitting  defiantly  to  the  interview. 

"  Will  you  sit  here  ?  "  suggested  Van  Cor- 
laer,  taking  off  his  cloak  and  making  for 
her  a  cushion  upon  the  stone.  Antonia  re- 
flected that  he  would  be  chilly  and  therefore 
hold  brief  talk,  so  she  made  no  objection, 
and  sat  down  on  one  end  of  the  step  while 


I 


VAN  CORLAER. 


99 


he  sat  down  on  the  other.  They  spoke 
Dutch  :  with  their  formal  French  fell  away 
the  formal  phases  of  this  meeting  in  Acadia. 
The  sentinel's  walk  moved  almost  overhead, 
and  died  away  along  the  wall  and  returned 
again,  but  noises  within  the  fort  scarcely  in- 
truded to  their  rocky  cell.  They  did  not 
hear  even  the  voices  of  Lalande  and  Father 
Jogues  descending  the  ladder. 

"We  have  never  had  any  satisfactory 
talk  together,  Antonia,"  began  Van  Cor- 
laer. 

"  No,  mynheer,"  breathed  the  girlish  rel- 
ict of  Bronck,  feeling  her  heart  labor  as  she 
faced  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  speak  his  mind 
to  you." 

"  It  hath  seemed  easy  enough  for  Myn- 
heer Van  Corlaer,  seeing  how  many  times 
he  hath  done  so,"  observed  Antonia,  draw- 
ing her  mufflings  around  her  neck. 

"No.  I  speak  always  with  such  folly 
that  you  will  not  hear  me.  It  is  not  so 
when  I  talk   among  men  or  work  on  the 


r 


^ 


I   I 

i 


100 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


l\ 


minds  of  savages.  Let  us  now  begin  reason- 
ably.    I  do  believe  you  like  me,  Antonia." 

"A  most  reasonable  beginning,"  noted 
Antonia,  biting  her  lips. 

"  Now  I  am  a  man  in  the  stress  and  fury  of 
mid-life,  hard  to  turn  from  my  purpose,  and 
you  well  know  my  purpose.  Your  denials 
and  puttings-off  and  flights  have  pleased 
me.  But  your  own  safety  may  waste  no 
more  good  time  in  further  play.  I  have  not 
come  into  Acadia  to  tinkle  a  song  under 
your  window,  but  to  wed  you  and  carry  you 
back  to  Fort  Orange  with  me." 

Antonia  stirred,  to  hide  her  trembling. 

*'  Are  you  cold  ?  "  inquired  Van  Corlaer. 

"  No,  mynheer." 

"  If  the  air  chills  you  I  will  warm  your 
hands  in  mine." 

"  My  hands  are  well  muffled,  mynheer." 

He  adjusted  his  back  against  the  wall  and 
again  opened  the  conversation. 

"  I  brought  a  young  dominie  with  me. 
He  wished  to  see  Montreal.  And  I  took 
care  to  have  with  him  such  papers  as  might 
be  necessary  to  the  marriage." 


VAN  CORLAER. 


101 


"  He  had  best  get  my  leave,"  observed 
Madame  Bronck. 

"  That  is  no  part  of  his  duty.  But  set 
your  mind  at  rest ;  he  is  a  young  dominie 
of  credit.  When  I  was  in  Boston  I  saw  a 
rich  sedan  chair  made  for  the  viceroy  of 
Mexico,  but  brought  to  the  colonies  for  sale. 
It  put  a  thought  in  my  head,  and  I  set 
skilled  fellows  to  work,  and  they  made  and 
we  have  carried  through  the  woods  the 
smallest,  most  cunning-fashioned  sedan  chair 
that  woman  ever  stepped  into.  I  brought 
it  for  the  comfortable  journeying  of  Madame 
Van  Corlaer." 

"  That  unknown  lady  will  have  uir'^h  sat- 
isfaction in  it,"  murmured  Antonia. 

"  I  hope  so.  And  be  better  known  than 
she  was  as  Jonas  Bronck's  wife." 

She  colored,  but  hid  a  smile  within  her 
muffling.  Her  good-humored  suitor  leaned 
toward  her,  resting  his  arms  upon  his  knees. 

"  Touching  a  matter  which  has  never  been 
mentioned  between  us ;  —  was  the  curing  of 
Bronck's  hand  well  approved  by  you  ?  " 


11: 


M 

1; 

..  it  ■ 


ill 


n 


102        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

"Mynheer,  I  am  angry  at  Madame  La 
Tour.  Or  did  he,"  gasped  Antonia,  not 
daring  to  accuse  by  name  the  colonial  doctor 
who  had  managed  her  dark  secret,  "  did  he 
show  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  Would  the  boldest  chemist  out  of  Am- 
sterdam cut  off  and  salt  the  member  of  any 
honest  burgher  without  leave  of  the  pa- 
troon  ?  "  suggested  Van  Corlaer.  "  Besides, 
my  skill  was  needed,  for  I  was  once  learned 
in  chemistry." 

It  was  so  surprising  to  see  this  man  over- 
ride her  terror  that  Antonia  stared  at  him. 

"  Mynheer,  had  you  no  dread  of  the 
sight?" 

"  No  ;  and  had  I  known  you  would  dread 
it  the  hand  had  spoiled  in  the  curing.  I 
thought  less  of  Jonas  Bronck,  that  he  could 
bequeath  a  morsel  of  himself  like  dried 
venison." 

"  Mynheer  Bronck  was  a  very  good  man," 
asserted  Antonia  severely. 

"  But  thou  knowest  in  thy  heart  that  I 
am  a  better  one,"  laughed  Van  Corlaer. 


VAN  CORLAER.  103 

"  He  was  the  best  of  husbands,"  she  in- 
sisted, trembling  with  a  woman's  anxiety  to 
be  loyal  to  affection  which  she  has  not  too 
well  rewarded.  "  It  was  on  my  account  that 
he  had  his  hand  cut  off." 

"  I  will  outdo  Bronck,"  determined  Van 
Corlaer.  "I  will  have  myself  skinned  at 
my  death  and  spread  out  as  a  rug  to  your 
feet.  So  good  a  housekeeper  as  Antonia 
will  beat  my  pelt  full  often,  and  so  be 
obliged  to  think  on  me." 

Afloat  in  his  large  personality  as  she 
always  was  in  his  presence,  she  yet  tried  to 
resist  him. 

"  The  relic  that  you  joke  about.  Mynheer 
Van  Corlaer,  I  have  done  worse  with ;  I 
have  lost  it." 

"  Bronck's  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  hath  been  stolen." 

"  Why,  I  commend  the  taste  of  the 
thief ! " 

"  And  misfortune  is  sure  to  follow." 

"Well,  let  misfortune  and  the  hand  go 
together." 


1 


■.n 


.11 


U.. 


if " 


I 


> 


ii 


104    THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

"It  was  not  so  said."  She  looked  fur- 
tively at  Bronck's  powerful  rival,  loath  to 
reveal  to  him  the  sick  old  man's  prophecies. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  hearts  of  heroes 
being  sealed  in  coffers  and  treasured  in  the 
cities  from  which  they  sprung,"  said  Van 
Corlaer,  taking  his  hat  from  the  step  and 
holding  it  to  shield  his  eyes  from  mounting 
light.  "  But  Jonas  was  no  hero.  And  I  have 
heard  of  papists  venerating  little  pieces  of 
saints'  bones.  Father  Jogues  might  do  so, 
and  I  could  behold  him  without  smiling. 
But  a  Protestant  woman  should  have  no 
superstition  for  relics." 

"  What  I  cannot  help  dreading,"  con- 
fessed Antonia,  moving  her  hands  nervously 
in  their  wrapping,  "  is  what  may  follow  this 
loss." 

"  Why,  let  the  hand  go  !  What  should 
follow  its  loss  ?  " 

"  Some  trouble  might  befall  the  people 
who  are  kindest  to  me." 

"Because  Bronck's  hand  has  been  mis- 
laid?" inquired  Van  Corlaer  with  shrewd 
light  in  his  eyes. 


I 


\h  <: 


VAN  COHLAEli. 


105 


"Yos,  mynheer,"  hesitated  Antonia.  IIo 
burst  into  laughter  and  Antonia  looked  at 
him  as  if  he  had  spoken  against  religion. 

She  sighed. 

"It  was  my  duty  to  open  the  box  once 
every  month." 

Van  Corlaer  threw  his  hat  down  again  on 
the  step  above. 

"  Are  you  cold,  mynheer  ?  "  inquired  An- 
tonia considerately. 

*'  No.  I  am  fired  like  a  man  in  mid- 
battle.  Will  nothing  move  you  to  show  mo 
a  little  love,  madame  ?  Why,  look  you, 
there  were  French  women  among  captives 
ransomed  from  the  Mohawks  who  shed  tears 
on  these  hands  of  mine.  Strangers  and 
alien  people  have  some  movement  of  feeling, 
but  you  have  none." 

"Mynheer,"  pleaded  Antonia,  goaded  to 
inconsistent  and  trembling  asperity,  "  you 
make  my  case  very  hard.  I  could  not  tell 
you  why  I  dare  not  wed  again,  but  since 
you  know,  why  do  you  cruelly  blame  me  ? 
A  woman  does  not  weep   the   night   away 


i:i  ii 


106 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


without  some  raovenient  of  feeling.  Yes, 
mynheer,  you  have  taunted  me,  and  I  will 
tell  you  the  worst.  I  have  thought  of  you 
more  than  of  any  other  person  in  the  world, 
and  felt  such  satisfaction  in  your  presence 
that  I  could  hardly  forego  it.  Yet  holding 
me  thus  bound  to  you,  you  are  by  no  means 
satisfied,"  sobbed  Antonia. 

Van  Corlaer  glowed  over  her  a  moment 
with  some  smiling  compunction,  and  irre- 
sistibly took  her  in  his  arms.  From  the 
instant  that  Antonia  found  herself  there 
unstartled,  her  point  of  view  was  changed. 
She  looked  at  her  limitations  no  longer 
alone,  but  through  Van  Corlaer's  eyes,  and 
saw  them  vanishing.  The  sentinel,  glancing 
down  from  time  to  time  with  a  furtive  cast 
of  his  eye,  saw  Antonia  nodding  or  shaking 
her  flaxen  head  in  complete  unison  with  Van 
Corlaer's  nods  and  negations,  and  caught 
the  sweet  monotone  of  her  voice  repeating 
over  and  over  :  — 

"  Yes,  mynheer.     Yes,  mynheer." 


IX. 


THE  TURRET. 


While  Antonia  continued  her  conference 
on  the  stone  steps  leading  to  the  wall,  the 
dwarf  was  mounting  a  flight  which  led  to 
the  turret.  Klussman  walked  ahead,  carry- 
ing her  instrument  and  her  ration  for  the 
day.  There  was  not  a  loopliole  to  throw 
glimmers  upon  the  blackness.  The  ascent 
wound  about  as  if  carved  through  the  heart 
of  rock,  and  the  tall  Swiss  stooped  to  its 
slope.  Such  a  mountain  of  unseen  terraces 
made  Le  Rossignol  pant.  She  lifted  her- 
self from  step  to  step,  growing  dizzy  with 
the  turns  and  holding  to  the  wall. 

"  Wait  for  me,"  she  called  up  the  gloom, 
and  shook  her  fist  at  the  unseen  soldier 
because  he  gave  her  no  reply.  Klussman 
stepped  out  on  the  turret  floor  and  set  down 


U 


I 


I 


108 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOIIX. 


h 


W 


Is 


his  load.  Stretching  himself  from  the  cramp 
of  the  stairway,  lie  stood  looking  over  bay 
and  forest  and  coast.  The  hattlemented 
wall  was  quite  as  high  as  his  shoulder.  One 
small  cannon,  brought  up  with  ciiormous 
labor,  was  here  trained  through  an  embra- 
sure to  command  the  mouth  of  the  river. 

Le  Kcssignol  emerged  into  the  unroofed 
light  and  the  sea  air  like  a  potentate,  drag- 
ging a  warm  furred  robe.  She  had  fastened 
great  hoops  of  gold  in  her  ears,  and  they 
gave  her  peaked  face  a  barbaric  look.  It 
was  her  policy  to  go  in  state  to  punishment. 
The  little  sovereign  stalked  with  long  steps 
and  threw  out  her  arm  in  command. 

"  Monsieur  the  Swiss,  stoop  over  and 
give  me  thy  back  until  I  mount  the  battle- 
ment." 

Klussman,  full  of  his  own  bitter  and  con- 
fused thinking,  looked  blankly  down  at  her 
heated  countenance. 

"  Give  me  thy  back  !  "  sang  the  dwarf  in 
the  melodious  scream  which  anger  never 
made  harsh  in  her. 


fi  'I 
■f  .J 


THE   TURRET.  IQQ 

"  Faith,  yes,  and  my  entire  carcass,"  mut- 
tered the  Swiss.  ''  I  care  not  what  becomes 
of  me  now." 

"  Madame  Marie  sent  you  to  escort  me  to 
this  turret.  You  have  the  honor  because 
you  are  an  officer.  Now  do  your  duty  as 
lieutenant  of  this  fortress,  and  make  me  a 
comfortable  prisoner." 

Klussman  set  his  hands  upon  his  sides 
and  smiled  down  upon  his  prisoner. 
"  What  is  your  will  ?  " 
"  Twice  have  I  told  you  to  stoop  and  give 
me  your  back,  that  I  may  mount  from  the 
cannon  to  the  battlements.  Am  I  to  be 
shut  up  here  without  an  outlook?  " 

"  May  I  be  hanged  if  I  do  that,"  ex- 
claimed Klussman.  "  Make  a  footstool  of 
myself  for  a  spoiled  puppet  like  thee?  " 

Le  Rossignol  ran  towards  him  and  kicked 
his  boots  with  the  heel  of  her  moccasin. 
The  Swiss,  remonstrating  and  laudiino-. 
moved  back  before  her. 

"Have  some  care  — thou  wilt  break  a 
deer-hoof  on  my  stout   leather.     And  why 


^1. 


i-i-j 


if 


t  ■ 


n 


i  i 


w 


lii' 

I'M 


*  i 


110    THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

mount  the  battlements?  A  fall  from  this 
turret  edge  would  spread  thee  out  like  a 
raindrop.  Though  the  fewer  women  there 
are  in  the  world  the  better,"  added  Kluss- 
man  bitterly. 

"  Presume  not  to  call  me  a  woman  !  " 

•'Why,  what  art  thou?" 

"  I  am  the  nightingale." 

"  By  thy  red  head  thou  art  the  wood- 
pecker. Here  is  my  back,  clatterbill.  Why 
should  I  not  crawl  the  ground  to  be  walked 
over  ?     I  have  been  worse  used  than  that." 

He  grinned  fiercely  as  he  bent  down 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees.  Le  llos- 
signol  mounted  the  cannon,  and  with  a 
couple  of  light  bounds,  making  him  a  perch 
midway,  reached  an  embrasure  and  sat  ar- 
ranging her  robes. 

"  Now  you  may  hand  me  my  clavier,"  she 
said,  "  and  then  you  shall  have  my  thanks 
and  my  pardon." 

The  Swiss  handed  her  the  instrument. 
His  contempt  was  ruder  than  he  knew.  Le 
Kossignol  pulled  her  gull-skin  cap  well  down 


THE  TURRET. 


Ill 


upon  her  ears,  for  though  the  day  was  now 
bright  overhead,  a  raw  wind  came  across 
the  bay.  She  leaned  over  and  looked  down 
into  the  fortress  to  call  her  swan.  The  cook 
was  drawing  water  from  the  well,  and  that 
soft  sad  note  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  turret. 
Le  Rossignol  squinted  at  him,  and  the  man 
went  into  the  barracks  and  told  his  wise 
that  he  felt  shooting  pains  in  his  limbs  that 
instant. 

"  Come  hither,  gentle  Swiss,"  said  the 
dwarf  striking  the  plectrum  into  her  man- 
dolin strings,  "  and  I  will  reward  thee  for 
thy  back  and  all  thy  courtly  services." 

Klussman  stepped  to  the  wall  and  looked 
with  her  into  the  fort. 

"  Take  that  sweet  sight  for  my  thanks," 
said  Le  Rossignol,  pointing  to  Marguerite 
below.  The  miserable  girl  had  come  out  of 
the  barracks  and  was  sitting  in  the  sun  be- 
side the  oven.  She  rested  her  licad  against 
it  and  met  the  sky  light  with  half-shut  eyes, 
lovely  in  silken  hair  and  pallid  flesh  through 
all  her  suUenness  and  dejection.     As  Kluss- 


;i 


f 


:  )• 


If 


112         TIIK   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

man  saw  her  he  uttered  an  oath  under  his 
breath,  which  the  dwarf's  hand  on  the  man- 
dolin echoed  with  a  bang.  He  turned  his 
back  on  the  sight  and  betook  himself  to  the 
stairway,  the  dwarf's  laughter  following  him. 
She  felt  high  in  the  world  and  played  with 
a  good  spirit.  The  sentinel  below  heard 
her,  but  he  took  care  to  keep  a  steady  and 
level  eye.  When  the  swan  rose  past  him, 
spreading  its  wings  almost  against  his  face, 
he  prudently  trod  the  wall  without  turning 
his  head. 

"  H<3,  Shubenacadie,"  said  the  human 
morsel  to  her  familiar  as  the  wide  wings 
composed  themselves  beside  her.  "  We  had 
scarce  said  good-morning  when  I  must  be 
haled  before  my  lady  for  that  box  of  the 
Ilollandaise."  The  swan  was  a  huge  white 
creature  of  his  kind,  with  fiery  eyes.  There 
was  satin  texture  delightful  to  the  touch  in 
the  firm  and  glistening  plumage  of  his  swell- 
ing breast.     Le  Rossignol  smoothed  it. 

*'  They  have  few  trinkets  in  that  bar- 
barous Fort  Orange  in  the  west.     I  detest 


it]'- 


THE  ruiiRi-r.  113 

that  Ilollandaise  more  since  slie  carries 
about  such  a  casket.  Let  us  be  cozy.  Kiss 
me,  Shubenacadie." 

The  swan's  attachment  and  obedience  iv> 
her  were  struggling  against  some  swan-like 
instinct  which  made  him  rear  a  lofty  head 
and  twist  it  riverward. 

"  Kiss  me,  I  say !  Shall  I  have  to  beat 
thee  over  the  head  with  my  clavier  to  teach 
thee  manners  ?  " 

Shubenacadie  darted  his  snake  neck  down- 
ward and  touched  bills  with  her.  She  patted 
his  coral  nostrils. 

"  Not  yet.  Before  you  take  to  the  water 
we  must  have  some  talk.  I  am  shut  up 
here  to  stay  this  whole  day.  And  for  wliat  ? 
Not  because  of  the  casket,  for  they  know 
not  what  I  have  done  with  it.  But  because 
thou  and  I  sometimes  go  out  without  the 
password.  Stick  out  thy  toes  and  let  me 
polish  them." 

Shubenacadie  resisted  this  mandate,  and 
his  autocrat  promptly  dragged  one  foot 
from  under  him,  causing  him  to  topple  on 


m 


\  \ 


ft 

I 


hi 


i 


*ii 


114 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JO  UN. 


the  parapet.  He  liissed  at  her.  Le  Ros- 
signol  looked  up  at  the  threatening  flat  head 
and  hissed  back. 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  that  Swiss,"  she 
laughed.  "  I  will  put  a  yoke  on  you.  I  will 
tie  you  to  the  settle  in  the  hall.  Why  have 
all  man  creatures  such  tempers  ?  Thank 
heaven  I  was  not  born  to  hose  and  doublet. 
Never  did  I  see  a  mild  man  in  my  life  ex- 
cept Edelwald.  As  for  this  Swiss,  I  am 
done  with  him.  He  hath  a  wife,  Shubena- 
cadie.  She  sits  down  there  by  the  oven 
now  ;  a  miserable  thing  turned  off  by  D'Aul- 
nay  de  Charnisay.  Have  I  told  thee  the 
Swiss  had  a  soul  above  a  common  soldier 
and  I  picked  him  out  to  -pay  court  to  me  ? 
Beat  me  for  it.  Pull  the  red  hair  he  con- 
demned. I  would  have  had  him  sighing  for 
me  that  I  might  pity  him.  The  populace 
is  beneath  us,  but  we  must  amuse  ourselves. 
Beat  me,  I  demand.  Punish  me  well  for 
lb?.,  ing  my  eyes  to  that  Swiss." 

Sliubenacadie  understood  the  challenge 
iiiiu  the  tone.     He  was  used  to  rendering: 


THE  TURRET, 


115 


such  service  when  his  mistress  repented  of 
her  sins.     Yet  l,e  gave  his  tail  feathers  a 
slight  flirt  and  quavered  some  guttural   to 
sustain  his  part  in  the  conversation,  and  to 
beg  that  he  might  be  excused  from  liolding 
the  sword  this  time.     As  she  continued  to 
prod  him,  however,  he  struck  her  with  his 
beak.     Le  Rossignol  was  human   in   never 
finding  herself  able  to  bear  the  punishment 
she   courted.      She    flew  at   the   swan,   he 
spread  his  wings   for  ardent  warfare,  and 
they  both  droi^ped  to  the  stone  floor  in  a 
whirlwind  of  mandolin,  arms,  and  feathers. 
The  dwarf  kept  her  hold  on  him  until  he 
cowered  and  lay  with  his  neck  along  the 
pavement. 

"Thou  art  a  Turk,  a  rascal,  a  horned 
beast!"  panted  Le  Kossignol.  Shubena. 
cadie  quavered  plaintively,  and  aU  her  wrath 
was  gone.  She  spread  out  one  of  his  wings 
and  smoothed  the  plumes.  She  nursed  his 
head  in  her  lap  and  sung  to  him.  Two  of 
his  feathers,  plucked  out  in  the  contest,  she 
put  in  her  bosom.     He  flirted  his  taifand 


SI 


hi 


'     ! 


»,;' 


V 


nil 


*f- 


I 


116 


tjil:  lady  of  fort  st.  joijn. 


gathered  himself  again  to  his  feet,  and  she 
broke  her  loaf  and  fed  him  and  poured 
water  into  her  palm  for  his  bill. 

Le  Rossignol  esteemed  the  military  dig- 
nity given  to  her  imprisonment,  and  she  was 
a  hardy  midget  who  could  bear  untold  ex- 
posure when  wandering  at  her  own  will. 
She  therefore  received  with  disgust  her 
lady's  summons  to  come  down  long  before 
the  day  was  spent,  the  messenger  being  only 
Zclie. 

"  Ah — h,  mademoiselle,"  warned  the  maid, 
stumping  ponderousl}'^  out  of  the  stone  stair- 
way,  "  are  you  about  to  mount  that  swan 


again 


?" 


"  Who  has  ever  seen  me  mount  him  ?  " 
"  I  would  be  sworn  there  are  a  dozen  men 
in  the  fort  that  have." 
"  But  you  never  have." 
"  No.    I  have  been  absent  with  my  lady." 
"  Well,  you  shall  see  me  now." 
The  dwarf   flung   herself  on  Shubenaca- 
die's  back,  and  thrust  her  feet  down  under 
his  wings.     He  began  to  rise,  and  expanded, 


TUE    TURRET.  l|j 

Stretching  his  neck  forward,  and  Zclie  ut- 
tered a  yell  of  terror.  The  weird  little 
woman  leaped  off  and  turned  her  laugliing 
beak  toward  the  terrified  maid.  Her  ear^ 
hoops  swung  as  she  rolled  her  mockino- 
head.  ^ 

"  Oh,  if  it  frightens  you  I  will  not  ride 
to-day,"  she  said.  Sluibenacadie  sailed 
across  the  battlements,  and  though  they 
could  no  longer  see  him  they  knew  he  had 
taken  to  the  river. 

"  If  I  tell  my  lady  this,"  shivered  Zelie, 
"  she  will  never  let  you  out  of  the  turret! 
And  she  but  this  moment  sent  me  to  call 
you  down  out  of  the  chill  east  wind." 

"  Tell  Madame  Marie,"  urged  the  dwarf 
insolently. 

"  And  do  you  ride  that  way  over  bush  and 
brier,  through  mirk  and  dayliglit  ?  " 

"I  was  at  Penobscot  this  week,"  answered 
Le  Rossignol. 

Zc'lie  gazed  with  a  bristling  of  even  the 
hairs  upon  her  lip. 

"  It  goeth  past  belief,"  she  observed,  set- 


s 


fet 


Hi 

fN 


'^k 


•ill 


■V^ 


f i  ^    !■ 


i 

1   ! 

i."   1 

it 

\\ ' 

It , 

f  "si 

hi    I 


j- 


118 


Tll/C    LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


ting  her  liamls  upon  her  sides.  *'  And  tho 
swan,  what  else  can  he  do  besides  carry  thee 
like  a  dragon  ?  " 

"  He  sings  to  me,"  bohlly  asserted  Lo 
Kossignol.  "  And  many  a  good  bit  of  advice 
have  I  taken  from  his  bill." 

"  It  would  be  well  if  he  turned  his  mind 
more  to  thinking  and  less  to  roving,"  re- 
spectfully hinted  Zelie.  "  I  will  go  before 
you  downstairs  and  leave  the  key  in  the  tur- 
ret door,"  she  suggested. 

''  Take  up  these  things  and  go  when  you 
please,  and  mind  that  I  do  not  hear  my 
clavier  striking  the  wall." 

"  Have  you  not  felt  the  wind  in  this  open 
donjon  ?  " 

*'  The  wind  and  I  take  no  note  of  each 
other,"  answered  the  dwarf,  lifting  her 
chilled  nose  skyward.  "  But  the  cold  water 
and  bread  have  worked  me  most  discomfort 
in  this  imprisonment.  Go  down  and  tell 
the  cook  for  me  that  he  is  to  make  a  hot 
bowl  of  the  broth  I  like." 

"  He  will  do  it,"  said  Zelie. 


hi 


77//;   TURRET. 


119 


"  Yes,  he  will  do  it,"  said  the  dwarf,  "  and 
the  sooner  he  does  it  the  better." 
"  Will  you  eat  it  in  the  hall  ?  " 
"  I  will  cat   it  wherever  Madame  Mario 


IS. 


>» 


"  But  that  you  cannot  do.  There  is  great 
business  going  forward  and  she  is  shut  with 
Madame  Bronck  in  our  other  lady's  room." 

"  I  like  it  when  you  presume  to  know 
better  than  I  do  what  is  going  forward  in 
this  fort ! "  exclaimed  the  dwarf  jealously, 
a  flush  mounting  her  slender  cheeks. 

*'  I  should  best  know  what  has  happened 
since  you  left  the  hall,"  contended  Zelie. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  poor  heavy-foot  ?  You 
can  only  hearken  to  what  is  whispered  past 
your  ear ;  but  I  can  sit  here  on  the  battle- 
ments and  read  all  the  secrets  below  me." 

"Can  you,  Mademoiselle  Nightingale? 
For  instance,  where  is  Madame  Bronck's 
box  ?  " 

The  maid  drew  a  deep  breath  at  her  own 
daring. 

"  It  is  not  about  Madame  Bronck's  box 
that  they  confer.     It  is  about  the  marriage 


% 


W 


in 


120 


THE  LADY  or  FORT  ST.  JO/IX. 


Is  i    I 


IV  1. 


\i  ^a 


of  the  IIollaiulaiKo,"  .answered  Le  Kossignol 
witli  ;i  bold  guess.  "  I  could  have  told  you 
that  wlicu  you  entered  the  turret.' 

Zelie  experienced  a  chill  through  her 
flesh  which  was  not  caused  by  the  damp 
breath  of  Fundy  Bay. 

*'  How  doth  she  find  out  things  done  be- 
hind her  back  —  this  clever  little  witch  ? 
And  perhaps  you  will  name  the  bridegroom, 
mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  AVho  could  that  be  except  the  big  IIol- 
landais  who  hath  come  out  of  the  west  after 
her  ?  Could  she  marry  a  priest  or  a  com- 
mon soldier  ?  " 

"That  is  true,"  admitted  Zclie,  feeling 
her  superstition  allayed. 

"  There  must  be  as  few  women  as  trinkets 
in  that  wilderness  Fort  of  Orange  from 
which  he  came,"  added  the  dwarf. 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  Zelie,  wrinkling  her 
nose  and  squinting  in  the  sunlight. 

But  Le  Rossignol  took  no  further  trouble 
than  to  give  her  a  look  of  contempt,  and 
lifted  the  furred  garment  to  descend  the 
stairs. 


' 


X. 


^V-N    ACAWAX    I'OET. 

"TliK    woman    wlio   dispenses    with    any 
<lignity  wliieli  sliould  attend  lier  nmiTia<r<s 
<lotli  elieapen  l.ersolf  to  Iier  Iiusband,"  hM 
Lady  Dorinda  to  Antonia  J^ronek,  leaning 
baek  in  tlic  easiest  eliair  of  the  fortress.     It 
was  large  and  stiff,  but  filled  with  eushions. 
Lady  Dorinda's  ehaniber  was  the  most  eom- 
fortable  one  in  Fort  St.  John.     It  was  over 
the  front  of  the  great  hall,  and  was  intended 
for   a   drawing'-room,    being   spacious,    well 
warmed  by  a  fireplace  and  lighted  by  win- 
dows looking  into  the  fort.     A  stately  cur- 
tained bed,  a  toilet  table  with  swinging  mir- 
ror, bearing   many   of   the    ornament^  and 
beauty. helpers   of    an    elderly    belle,    and 
countless   accumulations    which   spoke     her 
former  state   in   the  world,  made    this   an 
English  bower  in  a  French  fort. 


I 


I 


r'  ■'• 


122 


THE   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


m 


m. 


IF 


¥■' 


Her  dull  yellow  hair  was  coifed  in  the 
fashion  of  the  early  Stuarts.  She  held  a 
hand-screen  betwixt  her  face  and  the  fire, 
but  the  flush  which  touched  its  usual  sal- 
lowness  wis  not  caused  by  heat.  A  wed- 
ding was  a  diversion  of  her  exile  which 
Lady  Dorinda  had  never  lioped  for.  There 
had  been  some  mating  in  the  fort  below 
among  soldiers  and  peasant  womcK,  to  which 
she  did  not  lower  her  thoughts.  The  noise 
of  resulting  merrymakings  sufficiently 
sought  out  and  annoyed  her  ear.  But  the 
wedding  of  the  guest  to  a  man  of  conse- 
quence in  the  Dutch  colony  was  something 
to  which  she  might  unbend  herself. 

Antonia  had  been  brought  against  her 
will  to  consult  with  this  faded  authority  by 
Marie,  who  sat  by,  supporting  her  through 
the  ordeal.  There  was  never  any  familiar 
chat  between  the  lady  of  the  fort  and  the 
v/idow  of  Claude  La  Tour.  Neither  forgot 
their  first  meeting  behind  cannon,  and  the 
tragedy  of  a  divided  house.  Lady  Dorinda 
lived  in  Acadia  because  she  could  not  well 


h 


AN  ACADIAN  POET. 


123 


live  elsewhere.  And  she  secretly  nursed  a 
hope  that  in  her  day  the  province  would 
fall  into  English  hands,  her  kniglit  be  vin- 
dicated, and  his  son  obliged  to  submit  to  a 
power  he  had  defied  to  the  extremity  of 
warring  with  a  father. 

If  the  two  women  had  no  love  for  each 
other  they  at  least  stinted  no  ceremony. 
Marie  presented  the  smallest  surface  of  her- 
self to  her  mother-in-law.  It  is  true  they 
had  been  of  the  same  household  only  a 
few  months  ;  but  months  and  years  are  the 
same  betwixt  us  and  the  people  who  solve 
not  for  us  this  riddle  of  ourselves.  Antonia 
thouglit  little  of  Lady  Dorinda's  opinions, 
but  her  saying  about  the  dignity  of  mar- 
riage rites  had  the  force  of  unexpected 
truth.  Arendt  Van  Corlaer  had  used  up 
his  patience  in  courtship.  He  was  now  bent 
on  wedding  Antonia  and  setting  out  to 
Montreal  without  the  loss  of  another  day. 
II is  route  was  i)laniied  up  St.  John  River 
and  across-country  to  the  St.  Lawrence. 

I  woidd  therefore  give  all  possible  state 


:ii 


\h 


a 


124 


TIIK   LADY   or  FORT  ST.   JOIIX. 


in 


to  this  occasion,"  added  Lady  Dorinda. 
"  Did  you  not  tell  me  this  Sir  Van  Corlaer 
is  an  officer?" 

"  He  is  the  real  patroon  of  Fort  Orange, 
my  lady." 

"  He  should  then  have  military  honors 
paid  him  on  his  marriage,"  observed  Lady 
Dorinda,  to  whom  patroon  suggested  the 
barbarous  but  splendid  vision  of  a  western 
pasha.  "  Salutes  should  be  fired  and  drums 
sounded.  In  thus  recommending  I  hope  I 
have  not  overstepped  my  authority,  Madame 
La  Tour  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  your  ladyship,"  mur- 
mured Marie. 

"  The  marriage  ceremony  hath  length  and 
solemnity,  but  I  would  have  it  longer,  and 
more  solemn.  A  woman  in  giving  herself 
away  should  greatly  impress  a  man  with 
the  charge  he  hath  undertaken.  There  be 
not  many  bridegrooms  like  Sir  Claude  de  la 
Tour,  who  fasted  an  entire  day  before  his 
marriage  with  me.  The  ceremonial  of  that 
marriage  hath  scarce  been  forgotten  at  court 
to  this  hour." 


AN  ACADIAN  POET. 


125 


Lady  Dorinda  folded  her  hands  and 
closed  her  eyes  to  sigh.  Her  voice  had 
rolled  the  last  words  in  her  throat.  At  such 
moments  she  looked  very  superior.  Tier 
double  chins  and  dull  light  eyes  held  great 
reserves  of  self-respect.  A  small  box  of 
aromatic  seeds  lay  in  her  lap,  and  as  her 
hands  encountered  it  she  was  reminded  to 
put  a  seed  in  her  mouth  and  find  pensive 
comfort  in  chewing  it. 

"  Edelwald  should  be  here  to  give  the 
proper  grace  to  this  event,"  added  Lady 
Dorinda. 

"  I  thought  of  him,"  said  Marie.  "  Edel- 
wald has  so  much  the  nature  of  a  trouba- 
dour." 

"The  studies  which  adorn  a  man  were 
well  thought  of  when  I  was  at  court,"  said 
Lady  Dorinda.  "  Edelwald  is  really  thrown 
away  upon  this  wilderness." 

Antonia  was  too  intent  on  Van  Corlaer 
and  his  fell  determination  to  turn  her 
mind  upon  Edelwald.  She  had,  indeed, 
seen  very  little  of  La  Tour's  second  in  com- 


%'-■ 


i 


Ui'\ 


i 


126 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


i 


I 


ii  ;■ 


mand,  for  he  had  been  away  with  La  Tour 
on  expeditions  much  of  the  time  she  had 
sjient  in  Acadia.  Edelwald  was  the  only 
man  of  the  fortress  called  by  his  baptismal 
name,  yet  it  was  spoken  with  respect  and 
deference  like  a  title.  He  was  of  the  family 
of  De  Born.  In  an  age  when  religion  made 
political  ties  stronger  than  the  ties  of  na- 
ture, the  La  Tours  and  De  Borns  had 
fought  side  by  side  through  Huguenot  wars. 
When  a  later  generation  of  La  Tours  were 
struggling  for  foothold  in  the  New  World, 
it  was  not  strange  that  a  son  of  the  De 
Borns,  full  of  songcraft  and  spirit  inherited 
from  some  troubadour  soldier  of  the  twelfth 
century,  should  turn  his  face  to  the  same 
land.  From  his  mother  Edelwald  took 
Norman  and  Saxon  strains  of  blood.  He 
had  left  France  the  previous  year  and  made 
his  voyage  in  the  same  ship  with  Madame 
La  Tour  and  her  mother-in-law,  and  he  was 
now  La  Tour's  trusted  officer. 

Edelwald  could  take  up  any  stringed  in- 
strument, strike  melody  out  of  it  and  sing 


AN  ACADIAN  POET. 


12T 


songs  he  had  himself  made.  But  such  pas- 
times were  brief  in  Acadia.  There  was 
other  business  on  the  frontier ;  sailing,  hunt- 
ing, fighting,  persuading  or  defying  men, 
exploring  unyielded  depths  of  wilderness. 
The  joyous  science  had  long  fallen  out  of 
practice.  But  while  the  grim  and  bloody 
records  of  our  early  colonies  were  being 
made,  here  was  an  unrecorded  poet  in 
Acadia.  La  Tour  held  this  gift  of  Edel- 
wald's  in  light  esteem.  lie  was  a  man  so 
full  of  action  and  of  schemes  for  establish- 
ing power  that  he  touched  only  the  martial 
side  of  the  young  man's  nature,  though  in 
that  contact  was  strong  comradeship.  Every 
inmate  of  the  fortress  liked  Edelwald.  He 
mediated  between  commandant  and  men, 
and  jealousies  and  bickerings  disappeared 
before  him. 

"It  would  be  better,''  murmured  Anto- 
nia,  breaking  the  stately  silence  by  Lady 
Dorinda's  fire,  "  if  Mynheer  Van  Corlaer 
journeyed  on  to  Montreal  and  returned  here 
before  any  marriage  takes  place." 


ii 


128 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


t: 

;;■' 


pi- 

m  ■ 

I 


^^v 


\-\-v 


"  Think  of  the  labor  you  will  thereby  put 
upon  him,"  exclaimed  Marie.  "  I  speak 
for  Monsieur  Corlaer  and  not  for  myself," 
she  added  ;  "  for  by  that  delay  I  should 
happily  keep  you  until  summer.  Besides, 
the  priest  we  have  here  with  us  himself  ad- 
mits tha>  ^he  town  of  Montreal  is  little  to 
look  upon.  V  Marie  though  it  be  named 
by  the  papists,  what  is  it  but  a  cluster  of 
huts  in  the  wikl'  rnebb  ' " 

"  I  was  six  months  preparing  to  be 
wedded  to  Mynheer  Bronck,"  remembered 
Antonia. 

"  And  will  Monsieur  Corlaer  return  here 
from  Montreal  ?  " 

"  No,  madame.  He  will  carry  me  with 
him." 

"  I  like  him  better  for  it,"  said  Marie 
smiling,  "  though  it  pleases  me  ill  enough." 

This  was  Antonia's  last  weak  revolt 
against  the  determination  of  her  stalwart 
suitor.  She  gained  a  three  days'  delay 
from  him  by  submitting  to  the  other  condi- 
tions of  his  journey.     It  amused  Marie  to 


:    H  ii 


Mi- 


^LV  ACADIAN  POET. 


129 


note  the  varying  phases  of  Antonia's  sur- 
render.  She  was  ah'eady  resigned  to  the 
loss  of  Jonas  Bronck's  liand,  and  in  no 
slavish  terror  of  the  consequences. 

"  And  it  is  true  I  am  provided  with  all  I 
need,"  she  mused  on,  in  the  line  of  remov- 
ing objections  from  Van  Corlaer's  way. 

"  I  have  often  promised  to  sliow  you  the 
gown  I  wore  at  my  marriage,"  said  Lady 
Dorinda,  roused  from  her  rumination  on  the 
aromatic  seed,  and  leaving  her  chair  to  pay 
this  gracious  compliment  to  the  Dutch 
widow.  "It  hath  faded,  and  been  discol- 
ored by  the  sea  air,  but  you  will  not  find  a 
prettier  fashion  of  lace  in  anything  made 
since." 

She  had  no  maid,  for  the  women  of  the 
garrison  had  all  been  found  too  rude  for  her 
service.  When  she  first  came  to  Acadia 
with  Claude  La  Tour,  an  English  gentle- 
woman gladly  waited  on  her.  But  now  only 
Zulie  gave  her  constrained  and  half-hearted 
attention,  rating  her  as  "  my  other  lady," 
and  plainly  deploring  her  presence.     Lady 


n 


\^ 


\ 

''it 


If 


>    t  If  I 

ill 

a; 


i.i 


130 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


I 


I  ! 


I'fi-i  'i 


Dorincla  had  one  large  box  bound  with  iron, 
hidden  in  a  nook  beyond  her  bed.  She 
took  the  key  from  its  usual  secret  place  and 
busied  herself  opening  tlie  box.  Marie  and 
Antonia  heard  her  speak  a  word  of  surprise, 
but  the  curtained  bed  hid  her  from  them. 
The  raised  lid  of  her  box  let  out  sweet 
scents  of  England,  but  that  breath  of  old 
times,  though  she  always  dreaded  its  swepp 
across  her  resignation,  had  not  made  her 
cry  out. 

She  found  a  strange  small  coffer  on  the 
top  of  her  own  treasures.  Its  key  stood  in 
its  lock,  and  Lady  Dorinda  at  once  turned 
that  key,  as  a  duty  to  herself.  Antonia's 
loss  of  some  precious  casket  had  been  pro- 
claimed to  her,  but  she  recollected  that  in 
her  second  thought,  when  she  had  already 
laid  aside  the  napkin  and  discovered  Jonas 
Bronck's  hand.  Lady  Dorinda  snapped  the 
lid  down  and  closed  her  own  chest.  She 
rose  from  her  place  and  stretched  both  arms 
toward  the  couch  at  the  foot  of  her  bed. 
Having  reached  the  couch  she  sank  down, 


ih 


AN  ACAD /AX  POET, 


131 


her  head  meeting  a  cushion  with  nice  cal- 
culation. 

"I  am   about   to  faint,"  said  Lady  Do- 
rinda,  and  having  parted  with  her  breath  in 
one   puff,  she   sincerely   lost   consciousness 
and  lay  in   extreme   calm,  her  clay-colored 
eyelids  shut  on  a  clay-colored  face.     Marie 
was  used  to  these  quiet  lapses  of  her  mother- 
in-law,  for  Lady  Dorinda  had  not  been   a 
good  sailor  on  their  voyage;  but  Antonia 
was  alarmed.     They  bathed  her  face  with  a 
few  inches  of  towel  dipped  in  scented  water, 
and  rubbed  her  hands  and  fanned  her.     She 
caught  life  in  again  with  a  gasp,  and  opened 
her  eyes  to  their  young  faces. 

"  Your  ladyship  attempted  too  much  in 
opening  that  box,"  said  Marie.  "  It  is  not 
good  to  go  back  through  old  sorrows." 

"  Madame  La  Tour  may  be  right,"  gasped 
Claude's  widow. 

"I  could  not  now  look  at  that  sown. 
Lady  Dorinda,"  protested  Antonia.  When 
her  ladyship  was  able  to  sit  again  by  the 
fire,  she  asked  both  of  them  to  leave  her  ; 


i 


132 


Tilt:   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


1 


I 

hi: 


I' 


i! 
I' 


i. 


iff'' 

JO  ■ 

i 


and  being  alone,  she  quieted  her  anxiety 
about  her  treasures  in  the  chest  by  a  forced 
search.  Nothing  had  been  disturbed.  The 
coals  burned  down  red  while  Lady  Dorinda 
tried  to  understand  this  happening.  She 
dismissed  all  thought  of  the  casket's  belong- 
ing to  Antonia  Bronck  ;  —  a  mild  and  stiff- 
mannered  young  provincial  who  had  nothing 
to  do  with  ghastly  tokens  of  war.  That 
hand  was  a  political  hint,  mysteriously  sent 
to  Lady  Dorinda  and  embodying  some  im- 
portant message. 

D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  may  have  sent  it 
as  a  pledge  that  he  intended  to  do  justice 
to  the  elder  La  Tour  while  chastising  the 
younger.  There  was  a  strange  girl  in  the 
fort,  accused  of  coming  from  D'Aulnay. 
Lady  Dorinda  could  feel  no  enmity  towards 
D'Aulnay.  Her  mind  swarmed  with  foolish 
thoughts,  harmless  because  ineffectual.  She 
felt  her  importance  grow,  and  was  sure  that 
the  seed  of  a  deep  political  intrigue  lay  hid- 
den in  her  chest. 


1 


XI. 


MARGUEKITE. 


The  days  which  ehipsed  before  Antonia 
Bronck's  marriage  were  lived  joyfully  by  a 
people  who  lost  care  in  any  festival.  Van 
Corlaer  brought  the  sleek  -  faced  young 
dominie  from  camp  and  exhibited  him  in  all 
his  potency  as  the  means  of  a  Protestant 
marriage  service.  He  could  not  speak  a 
word  of  French,  but  only  Dutnh  was  re- 
quired of  him.  All  religious  rites  were 
celebrated  in  the  hall,  there  being  no  chapel 
in  Fort  St.  John,  and  this  marriage  was  to 
be  witnessed  by  the  garrison. 

During  this  cheerful  time  a  burning  un- 
rest, which  she  concealed  from  her  people, 
drove  Marie  about  her  domain.  She  fled 
up  the  turret  stairs  and  stood  on  the  cannon 
to   look  over  the  bay.     Her  husband   had 


} 


ill 


134 


TllK  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


W 


m 


If* 

m 

been  away  l)ut  eight  days.  "  Yet  he  often 
makes  swift  journeys,"  she  thought.  The 
load  of  his  misfortunes  settled  more  heavily 
upon  her  as  she  drew  nearer  to  the  end  of 
woman  eompanionship. 

In  former  times,  before  sueh  bitterness 
had  grown  in  the  feud  between  D'Aulnay 
and  La  Tour,  she  had  made  frequent  voy- 
ages from  Cape  Sable  up  Fundy  Bay  to 
Port  Koyal.  The  winters  were  then  merry 
among  noble  Acadians,  and  the  lady  of  Fort 
St.  Louis  at  Cape  Sable  was  hostess  of  a 
rieh  seigniory.  Now  she  had  the  sickness 
of  suspense,  and  the  wasting  of  life  in  wait- 
ing. Frequently  during  the  day  she  met 
Father  Jogues,  who  also  wandered  about 
disturbed  by  the  evident  necessity  of  his 
return  to  Montreal. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Marie  once,  "  can  you 
on  your  conscience  bless  a  heretic  ?  " 

"  Madame,"  said  Father  Jogues,  *'  heaven 
itself  blesses  a  good  and  excellent  woman." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  if  you  could  lift  up 
your  hand,  even  with  the   sign  which  my 


MARGUERITE. 


135 


house  holds  idolatrous,  and  say  a  few  words 
of  prayer,  I  should  then  feel  consecrated  to 
whatever  is  before  nic." 

Perhaps  Father  Jogues  was  tempted  to 
have  recourse  to  his  vial  of  holy  water  and 
make  the  baptismal  signs.  Many  a  soul  lie 
truly  believed  he  had  saved  from  burning  by 
such  secret  administration.  And  if  savages 
could  be  thus  reclaimed,  should  he  hold 
back  from  the  only  opportunity  ever  given 
by  this  beautiful  soul  ?  His  face  shone. 
But  with  that  gracious  instinct  to  refrain 
from  intermeddling  which  was  beyond  his 
times,  he  only  lifted  his  stumps  of  fingers 
and  spoke  the  words  which  she  craved.  A 
maimed  priest  is  deprived  of  his  sacred 
offices,  but  the  pope  had  made  a  special  dis- 
pensation for  Father  Jogues. 

*'  Thanks,  monsieur,"  said  Marie. 
"  Though  it  be  sin  to  declare  it,  I  will  say 
your  religion  hath  mother  -  comfort  in  it. 
Perhaps  you  have  felt,  in  the  woods  among 
Iroquois,  that  sometime  need  of  mother- 
comfort  which  a  civilized  woman  may  feel 
who  has  long  outgrown  her  childhood." 


H 


ii 


m 


nh 


I 

..,;(- 


';; 


tf,; 


136   THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

The  mandolin  was  heard  in  the  barracks 
once  during  those  days,  for  Le  Rossignol 
had  come  out  of  the  house  determined  to 
seek  out  Marguerite.  She  found  the  Swiss 
girl  beside  the  powder  magazine,  for  Mar- 
guerite had  brought  out  a  stool,  and  seemed 
trying  to  cure  her  sick  spirit  in  the  sun. 
The  dwarf  stood  still  and  looked  at  her  with 
insolent  eyes.  Soldiers'  wives  hid  them- 
selves within  their  doors,  cautiously  watch- 
ing, or  thrusting  out  their  heads  to  shake 
at  one  another  or  to  squall  at  any  child 
venturing  too  near  the  encounter.  They 
did  not  like  the  strange  girl,  and  besides, 
she  was  in  th»»ir  way.  But  they  liked  the 
Nightingale  less,  and  pitied  any  one  singled 
out  for  her  attack. 

"  Good  day  to  madame  the  former  Ma- 
dame Klussman,"  said  the  dwarf.  Mar- 
guerite gathered  herself  in  defense  to  arise 
and  leave  her  stool.  But  Le  Kossignol 
gathered  her  mandolin  in  equal  readiness  to 
give  pursuit.  And  not  one  woman  in  the 
barracks  would  have  invited  her  quarry. 


MARGUERITE.  I37 

"I  was  in  Penobscot  last  week,"  an- 
nounced Le  Rossignol,  and  heads  popped 
out  of  all  the  doors  to  lift  eyebrows  and 
open  mouths  at  each  other.  The  swan-rid- 
iug  witch !  She  confessed  to  that  impossi- 
ble journey ! 

"  I  was  in  Penobscot  last  week,"  repeated 
Le  Rossignol,  holding  up  her  mandolin  and 
tmkling  an  accompaniment  to  her  words, 
"and  there  I  saw  the  house  of  D'Aulnay 
de  Charnisay,  and  a  very  good  house  it  is  ; 
but  my  lord  should  burn  it.  It  is  indeed 
of  rough  logs,  and  the  windows  are  so  high 
that  one  must  have  wings  to  look  through 
them  ;  but  quite  good  enough  for  a  woman 
of  your  rank,  seeing  that  D'Aulnay  hath  a 
palace  for  his  wife  in  Port  Royal." 

"  I  know  naught  about  the  house,"  spoke 
Marguerite,  a  j^ellow  sheen  of  anger  appear- 
ing in  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  naught  about  the  Island 
of  Demons,  then  ?  " 

The  Swiss  girl  muttered  a  negative  and 
looked  sidewise  at  her  antagonist. 


1  f 


^•--  \l    1. 


138 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


I 


"I  will  tell  you  that  story,"  said  Le 
Rossigiiol. 

She  played  a  weird  prelude.  Marguerite 
sat  still  to  be  baited,  like  a  hare  which  has 
no  covert.  The  instrument  being  heavy  for 
the  dwarf,  she  propped  it  by  resting  one 
foot  on  the  abutting  foundation  of  the 
powder-house,  and  all  through  her  recital 
made  the  mandolin's  effects  act  upon  her 
listener. 

"The  Sieur  dc  Roberval  sailed  to  this 
New  Wovld,  having  with  him  among  a  ship- 
load of  righteous  people  one  Marguerite." 
She  slammed  her  emphasis  on  the  mandolin. 

"There  have  ever  been  too  many  such 
women,  and  so  the  Sieur  de  Roberval  found, 
though  this  one  was  his  niece.  Like  all  her 
kind,  raadame,  she  had  a  lover  to  her 
scandal.  The  Sieur  de  Roberval  whipped 
her,  and  prayed  over  her,  and  shpit  her  up 
in  irons  in  the  hold  ;  yet  live  a  godly  life 
she  would  not.  So  what  could  he  do  but 
set  her  ashore  on  the  Island  of  Demons  ?  " 

"I  do  not  want  to  hear  it,"  was  Mar- 
guerite's muttered  protest. 


i 


MARGUERITE. 


139 


But  Le  Rossignol  advanced  closer  to  her 
face. 

"  And  what  does  the  lover  do  but  jump 
overboard  and  swim  after  her  ?  And  well 
was  he  repaid."  Bang !  went  the  mandolin. 
"  So  they  went  up  the  rocky  island  togetlier, 
and  there  they  built  a  hut.  What  a  hor- 
rible land  was  that ! 

"  All  day  long  fiends  twisted  themselves 
in  mist.  The  waves  made  a  sadder  moaninsr 
there  than  anywhere  else  on  earth.  Mon- 
sters crept  out  of  the  sea  and  grinned  with 
dull  eyes  and  clammy  lips.  No  fruit,  no 
flower,  scarcely  a  blade  of  grass  dared  thrust 
itself  toward  the  sky  on  that  scaly  island. 
Daylight  was  half  dusk  there  forever.  But 
the  nights,  the  nights,  madame,  were  full  of 
howls,  of  contending  beasts  —  the  nights 
were  storms  of  demons  let  loose  to  beat  on 
that  island ! 

"  All  the  two  people  had  to  eat  were  the 
stores  set  ashore  by  the  Siour  de  Eoberval. 
Now  a  child  was  born  in  their  hut,  and  the 
very  next  night  a  bear  knocked  at  the  doov 


■'I  hi 


■  14 


■I  % 


ill 


W 


^'  ,1 1 


■    '111 

I   '1 


'hM 


140 


TUi:  LADY   OF  FOliT  1ST.    JOHN. 


i 


I 


-V 


I 


ill 


I  ;- 


m 


¥J' 


iiiul  demanded  the  child.  Marguerite  full 
freely  gave  it  to  him." 

The  girl  shrunk  back,  and  Le  Rossignol 
was  deliglited  until  she  herself  noticed  that 
Klussman  had  come  in  from  some  duty  out- 
side the  gates.  His  eye  detected  her  em- 
ployment, and  he  sauntered  not  far  off  with 
his  shoulder  turned  to  the  powder-house. 

"  Next  night,  madame,"  continued  Le 
Rossignol,  and  her  tone  and  the  accent  of 
the  mandolin  made  an  insult  of  that  unsuit- 
able title,  "  a  horned  lion  and  two  dragons 
knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  for  the  lover, 
and  Marguerite  full  freely  gave  him  to 
them.  Kind  soul,  she  would  do  anything  to 
save  herself !  " 

"  Go  away  !  '*  burst  out  the  girl. 

"And  from  that  time  until  a  ship  took 
her  off,  the  demons  of  Demon  Island  tried 
in  vain  to  get  Marguerite.  They  howled 
around  her  house  every  night,  and  gaped 
down  her  chimney,  and  whispered  through 
the  cracks  and  sat  on  the  roof.  But  thou 
knowest,   madame,   that    a  woman   of  her 


••KMiiimt'  .■uMUJn.w^i 


MARGUERITE. 


141 


kind,  so  soft  and  silent  and  downward-look- 
ing, is  more  than  a  match  for  any  demon ; 
sure  to  live  full  easily  and  to  die  a  fat  saint." 

"Have  done  with  this,"  said  Klussman 
behind  the  dwarf,  who  turned  her  grotesque 
beak  and  explained,  — 

"  I  am  but  telling  the  story  of  the  Island 
of  Demons  to  Madame  Klussman." 

As  soon  as  she  had  spoken  the  name  the 
Swiss  caught  her  in  his  hand,  mandolin  and 
all,  and  w^alked  across  the  esplanade,  hold- 
ing her  at  arm's  length,  as  he  might  have 
carried  an  eel.  Le  Rossignol  ineffectually 
squirmed  and  kicked,  raging  at  the  spectacle 
she  made  for  laughing  women  and  soldiers. 
She  tried  to  beat  the  Swiss  with  her  man- 
dolin, but  he  twisted  her  in  another  direc- 
tion, a  cat's  weight  of  fury.  Giving  her  no 
chance  to  turn  upon  him,  he  opened  the 
entrance  and  shut  her  inside  the  hall,  and 
stalked  back  to  make  his  explanation  to  his 
wife.  Klussman  had  avoided  any  glimpse 
of  Marguerite  until  this  instant  of  taking 
up  her  defense. 


§  » , 

'1' 


:t!l 


•fiw 


;,:i| 


142 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


M' 


"  I  pulled  that  witch-midget  off  thee,"  he 
said,  speaking  for  the  fortress  to  hear,  "  be- 
cause I  will  not  have  her  raising  tumults  in 
the  fort.  Her  place  is  in  the  hall  to  amuse 
her  ladies." 

Marguerite's  chin  rested  on  her  breast. 

"  Go  in  the  house,"  said  Klussman 
roughly.  "  Why  do  you  show  yourself  out 
here  to  be  mocked  at  ?  " 

The  poor  girl  raised  her  swimming  eyes 
and  looked  at  him  in  the  fashion  he  remem- 
bered when  she  was  ill ;  when  he  had  nursed 
her  with  agonies  of  fear  that  she  might  die. 
The  old  relations  between  them  were  thus 
suggested  in  one  blinding  flash.  Klussman 
turned  away  so  sick  that  the  walls  danced 
around  him.  He  went  outside  the  fort  again, 
and  wandered  around  the  stony  height,  turn- 
ing at  every  few  steps  to  gaze  and  strain 
his  eyes  at  that  new  clay  in  the  graveyard. 

"  When  she  lies  beside  that,"  muttered 
the  soldier,  "then  I  can  be  soft  to  her," 
though  he  knew  he  was  already  soft  to  her, 
and  that  her  look  had  driven  through  him. 


V  1-A 


..riT^Tir;  ••;•'•.'""  """ 


XII. 


D  AULNAT. 


The  swelling  spring  was  chilled  by  cold 
rain,  driving  in  from  the  bay  and  sweeping 
through  the  half  budded  woods.  The  tide 
went  up  St.  John  lliver  with  an  impulse 
which  flooded  undiked  lowlands,  yet  there 
was  no  storm  dangerous  to  shipping.  Some 
sails  hung  out  there  in  the  whirl  of  vapors 
with  evident  intention  of  making*  port. 

Marie  took  a  glass  up  to  the  turret  and 
stood  on  the  cannon  to  watch  them.  Rain 
fine  as  driven  stings  beat  her  face,  and  ac- 
cumulated upon  her  muffling  to  run  down 
and  drip  on  the  wet  floor.  She  could  make 
out  nothing  of  the  vessels.  There  were 
three  of  them,  each  by  its  sails  a  ship. 
They  could  not  be  the  ships  of  Nicholas 
Denys  carrying  La  Tour's  recruits,    She  was 


m 
m 


^  I 


■J 


T 


144 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


If 


I 


[i  .i  '  ; 


not  foolish  enough,  however  great  her  hus- 
band's prosperity  with  Denys,  to  expect  of 
him  such  a  miraculous  voyage  around  Cape 
Sable. 

Sails  were  a  rare  sight  on  that  side  of  the 
bay.  The  venturesome  seamen  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts colony  chose  other  courses.  Fundy 
Bay  was  aside  from  the  great  sea  paths. 
Port  Royal  sent  out  no  ships  except  D'Aul- 
nay's,  and  on  La  Tour's  side  of  Acadia  his 
was  the  only  vessel. 

Certain  of  nothing  except  that  these  un- 
known comers  intended  to  enter  St.  John 
River,  Madame  La  Tour  went  downstairs 
and  met  Klussman  on  the  wall.  He  turned 
from  his  outlook  and  said  directly,  — 
Madame,  I  believe  it  is  D'Aulnay." 
You  may  be  right,"  she  answered.  "  Is 
any  one  outside  the  gates  ?  " 

"  Two  men  went  early  to  the  garden,  but 
the  rain  drove  them  back.  Fortunately, 
the  day  being  bad,  no  one  is  hunting  beyond 
the  falls." 

"  And  is  our  vessel  well  moored  ?  " 


14 


(( 


DA  ULNA  y. 


145 


"  Her  repairing  was  finished  some  days 
ago,  you  remember,  madame,  and  she  sits 
safe  and  comfortable.  But  D'Aulnay  may 
burn  her.  When  he  was  here  before,  my 
lord  was  away  with  the  shij)." 

"  Bar  the  gates  and  make  everything  se- 
cure at  once,"  said  Marie.  "And  salute 
these  vessels  presently.  If  it  be  D'Aulnay, 
we  sent  him  back  to  his  seigniory  with  fair 
speed  once  before,  and  we  are  no  worse 
equipped  now." 

She  returned  down  the  stone  steps  where 
Van  Corlaer's  courtship  had  succeeded,  and 
threw  off  her  wet  cloak  to  dry  herself  before 
the  fire  in  her  room.  She  kneeled  by  the 
hearth;  the  log  had  burned  nearly  away. 
Her  fnass  of  hair  was  twisted  back  in  the 
plain  fashion  of  the  Greeks  —  that  old  sweet 
fashion  created  with  the  nature  of  woman, 
to  which  the  world  periodically  returns  when 
it  has  exhausted  new  devices.  The  smallest 
curves,  which  were  tendrils  rather  than 
curls  of  hair,  were  blown  out  of  her  fleece 
over  forehead  and  ears.     A  dark  woman's 


III 


kip 

II' 


I ;  ■ 
in  i 


n 


■  <  t'  X 


146 


THE   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


ip 


beauty  is  independent  of  wind  and  light. 
When  she  is  buffeted  by  weather  the  rich 
inner  color  comes  through  her  skin,  and  the 
brightest  dayshine  can  do  nothing  against 
the  dusk  of  her  eyes. 

If  D'Aulnay  was  about  to  attack  the  fort, 
Marie  was  glad  tliat  Monsieur  Corlaer  had 
taken  his  bride,  the  missionaries,  and  his 
people  and  set  out  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Barely  had  they  escaped  a  siege,  for  they 
were  on  their  way  less  than  twenty-four 
hours.  She  had  regretted  their  first  day  in 
a  chill  rain.  But  chill  rain  in  boundless 
woods  is  better  than  sunlight  in  an  invested 
fortress.  Father  Jogues'  happy  face  with 
its  forward  droop  and  musing  eyelids  came 
before  Marie's  vision. 

"  I  need  another  of  his  benedictions,"  she 
said  in  undertone,  when  a  knock  on  her 
door  and  a  struggle  with  its  latch  disturbed 
her. 

"  Enter,  Le  Rossignol,"  said  Madame  La 
Tour.  And  Le  Rossignol  entered,  and  ap- 
proached the  hearth,  standing  at  full  length 


5*i 
I' 


D'AULNAV 


147 


scarcely  as  high  as  her  lady  kneeling.  Tlie 
room  was  a  dim  one,  for  all  apartments 
looking  out  of  the  fort  had  windows  little 
larger  than  portholes,  set  high  in  the  walls. 
Two  or  three  screens  hid  its  uses  as  bed- 
chamber and  dressing-room,  and  a  few  pieces 
of  tapestry  were  hung,  making  occasional 
panels  of  grotesque  figures.  A  couch  stood 
near  the  fireplace.  The  dwarf's  prominent 
features  were  gravely  fixed,  and  her  bushy 
hair  stood  in  a  huge  auburn  halo  around 
them.  She  wet  her  lips  with  that  sudden 
motion  by  which  a  toad  may  be  seen  to 
catch  flies. 

"  Madame  Marie,  every  one  is  running 
around  below  and  saying  that  D'Aulnay  de 
Charnisay  is  coming  again  to  attack  the 
fort." 

"Your  pretty  voice  has   always  been  a 
pleasure  to  me,  Nightingale." 
"  But  is  it  so,  madame  ?  " 
"There  are  three  ships  standing  in." 
Le  Rossignol's  russet-colored  gown  moved 
nearer  to  the  fire.     She  stretched  her  claws 


i« 


\n 


■<}'* 


m 


.' 


li 


I 


tii 


•  in 


i3'' 


148        THK  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

to  warm  and  then  lifted  one  of  them  near 
her  lady's  nose. 

"  Madame  Marie,  if  D'Aulnay  do  Char- 
nisay  be  coming,  put  no  faith  in  that 
Swiss !  " 

"  In  Klussman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  niadamc." 

**  Klussman  is  the  best  soldier  now  in  the 
fort,"  said  Madame  La  Tour  laughing.  "  If 
I  put  no  faith  in  him,  whom  shall  I  trust  ?  " 

"  Madame  Marie,  you  remember  that 
woman  you  brought  back  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  or  spoken  with 
her,"  said  Marie  self-reproachfuUy,  "  since 
she  vexed  me  so  sorely  about  her  child. 
She  is  a  poor  creature.  But  they  feed  and 
house  her  well  in  the  barracks." 

"  Madame  Marie,  Klussman  hath  been 
talking  with  that  woman  every  day  this 
week." 

The  dwarf's  lady  looked  keenly  at  her. 

"  Oh,  no.  There  could  be  no  talk  be- 
tween those  two." 

"But  there  hath  been.     I  have  watched 


I 


■^ 


D'AULNAV. 


149 


him.  Madame  Marie,  lie  took  me  up  when  I 
went  into  the  fort  before  Madame  Brouck's 
marriage  —  when  I  was  but  phiying  my 
chivier  before  that  sulky  knave  to  amuse 
her  —  he  took  me  up  in  his  big  common- 
soldier  fingers,  gripping  mo  around  the 
waist,  and  flung  me  into  the  hall." 

"Did  he  so?"  laughed  Marie.  "I  can 
well  sec  that  my  Nightingale  can  put  no 
more  faith  in  the  Swiss.  But  hearken  to 
me,  thou  bird-child.  There !  Hear  our 
salute !  " 

The  cannon  leaped  almost  over  their 
heads,  and  the  walls  shook  with  its  boom 
and  rebound.  Marie  kept  her  finger  up 
and  waited  for  a  reply.  Minute  succeeded 
minute.  The  drip  of  accumulated  rain- 
drops from  the  door  could  be  heard,  but 
nothing  else.  Those  sullen  vessels  paid  no 
attention  to  the  inquiry  of  Fort  St.  John. 

"  Our  enemy  has  come." 

She  relaxed  from  her  tense  listening  and 
with  a  deep  breath  looked  at  Le  Rossignol. 

"  Do  not  undermine  the  faith  of  one  in 


ii 


!  i 


i 


r 


I  f 


,1 , 


I 


Hi 


f 


V 


! 

r 
I 


150        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

another  in  this  fortress.  We  must  all  hold 
together  now.  The  Swiss  may  have  a  ten- 
derness for  his  wretched  wdfe  which  thou 
canst  not  understand.  But  ho  is  not  there- 
fore faithless  to  his  lord." 

Taking  the  glass  and  throwing  on  her 
wet  cloak,  Marie  again  ran  up  to  the  wall. 
But  Le  Rossignol  sat  down  cross-legged  by 
the  fire,  wise  and  brooding. 

"  If  I  could  see  that  Swiss  hung,"  she 
observed,  "it  would  scratch  in  my  soul  a 
long-felt  itch." 

When  calamity  threatens,  we  turn  back 
to  our  peaceful  days  with  astonishment  that 
they  ever  seemed  monotonous.  Marie 
watched  the  ships,  and  thought  of  the 
woman  days  with  Antonia  before  Van  Cor- 
laer  came  ;  of  embroidery,  and  teaching  the 
Etchemins,  and  bringing  sweet  plunder 
from  the  woods  for  the  child's  grave ;  of 
paddling  on  the  twilight  river  when  the  tide 
was  up,  brimming  and  bubble-tinted ;  of  her 
lord's  coming  home  to  the  autumn-night 
hearth ;  of  the  little  wheels  and   spinning, 


f 
'.1 


lu. 


Itil 


D'AULNAY.  151 

and  Edelwald's  songs  —  of  all  the  common 
joys  of  that  past  life.  The  clumsy  glass 
lately  brought  from  France  to  master  dis- 
tances in  the  New  World,  wearied  her  hands 
before  it  assured  her  eyes. 

D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  was  actually  com- 
ing to  attack  Fort  St.  John  a  second  time. 
He  warily  anchored  his  vessels  out  of  the 
fort's  range;  and  hour  after  honr  boats 
moved  back  and  forth  landing  men  and 
artillery  on  the  cape  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  a  position  which  gave  as  little  scope 
as  possible  to  St.  John's  guns.  All  that 
afternoon  tents  and  earthworks  were  rising, 
and  detail  by  detail  a^^peared  the  deliberate 
and  careful  preparations  of  an  enemy  who 
was  sitting  down  to  a  siege. 

At  dusk  camp-fires  began  to  flame  on  the 
distant  low  cape,  and  voices  moved  along 
air  made  sensitively  vibrant  by  falling 
damp.  There  was  the  suggested  hum  of  a 
disciplined  small  army  settling  itself  for  the 
night  and  for  early  action. 

Madame  La  Tour  came  out  to  the  espla- 


m 


'1  'I 

m 


■'  ii 


152 


THE  LADY  or  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


1     > 


i 

If 


m^ 


\i\ 


nade  of  the  fort,  and  the  Swiss  met  her, 
carrying  a  torch  which  ineffectual  rain- 
drops irritated  to  constant  hissing.  He 
stood,  tall  and  careworn,  holding  it  up  that 
his  lady  might  see  her  soldiers.  Everything 
in  the  fort  was  ready  for  the  siege.  The 
sentinels  were  about  to  be  doubled,  and 
sheltered  by  their  positions. 

"  I  have  had  you  called  together,  my 
men,"  she  spoke,  "  to  say  a  word  to  you  be- 
fore this  affair  begins." 

The  torch  flared  its  limited  circle  of  shine, 
smoke  wavering  in  a  half-seen  plume  at  its 
tip,  and  showed  their  erect  figures  in  line, 
none  very  distinct,  but  all  keenly  suggestive 
of  life.  Some  were  black  -  bearded  and 
tawny,  and  others  had  tints  of  the  sun  in 
flesh  and  hair.  One  was  grizzled  about  the 
temples,  and  one  was  a  smooth  -  cheeked 
youth.  The  roster  of  their  familiar  names 
seemed  to  her  as  precious  as  a  rosary.  They 
watched  her,  feeling  her  beauty  as  keenly 
as  if  it  were  a  pain,  and  answering  every 
lambent  motion  of  her  spirit. 


D'AULNAY.  153 

All  the  buildinjjs  were  hinted  throiiffh 
falling  mist,  and  glowing  hearths  in  the  bar- 
racks showed  like  forge  lights ;  for  the 
wives  of  the  half  jdozcn  married  soldiers  had 
come  out,  one  having  a  child  in  her  arms. 
They  stood  behind  their  lady,  troubled,  but 
reliant  on  her.  She  had  with  them  tlie 
prestige  of  success ;  she  had  led  the  soldiers 
once  before,  and  to  a  successful  defense  of 
the  fort. 

"  My  men,"  said  Marie,  "  when  the  Sieur 
de  la  Tour  set  out  to  northern  Acadia  he 
dreaded  such  a  move  as  this  on  D'Aulnay's 
part.  But  I  assured  him  he  need  not  fear 
for  us." 

The  soldiers  murmured  their  joy  and 
looked  at  one  another  smiling. 

"  The  Sieur  de  la  Tour  will  soon  return, 
with  help  or  without  it.  And  D'Aulnay 
has  no  means  of  learning  how  small  our 
garrison  is.  Bind  yourselves  afresh  to  me 
as  you  bound  yourselves  before  the  other 
attack." 

''  My  lady,  we  do  !  " 


I'M 


11'^^ 


Ij;;i: 


Hi- 


in 
if  . 


hi 

m 


154        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

Out  leaped  every  right  hand,  Kliissman's 
with  the  torch,  which  lost  and  caught  its 
flame  again  with  the  sudden  sweep. 

"That  is  all:  and  I  thank  you,"  said 
Marie.     «  We  will  do  our  best." 

She  turned  back  to  the  tower  under  the 
torch's  escort,  her  soldiers  giving  her  a  full 
cheer  which  might  further  have  deceived 
D'Aulnay  in  the  strength  of  the  garrison. 


:iU 


XIII. 


THE   SECOND   DAY. 


i 


The  exhilaration  of  fighting  quickened 
every  pulse  in  the  fort.  By  next  dawn  the 
cannon  began  to  speak.  D'Aulnay  had 
succeeded  in  planting  batteries  on  a  height 
eastward,  and  his  guns  had  immediate  effect. 
The  barracks  were  set  on  fire  and  jjut  out 
several  times  during  the  day.  All  the  in- 
mates gathered  in  the  stone  hall,  and  at  its 
fireplace  the  cook  prepared  and  distributed 
rations.  Great  balls  plowed  up  the  es- 
planade, and  the  oven  was  shattered  into  a 
storm  of  stone  and  mortar,  its  adjoining  mill 
being  left  with  a  gap  in  the  side. 

Eesponsive  tremors  from  its  own  artillery 
ran  through  the  fortress'  walls.  The  pieces, 
except  that  one  in  the  turret,  were  all 
brought   into    two    bastions,   those    in   the 


'    i 
!  I 

I     Ml 


f?! 


'   i3 


ill 


1 

f 

i 
w 

1 

pi 


'11 


i 


1: 


15C    THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

southeast  bastion  being  trained  on  D'Anl- 
nay's  batteries,  and  the  others  on  his  camp. 
The  gunner  in  the  turret  also  dropped  shot 
with  effect  among  the  tents,  and  attemj^ted 
to  reach  the  shij^s.  But  he  was  obliged  to 
use  nice  care,  for  the  iron  pellets  heaped  on 
the  stone  floor  behind  him  represented  the 
heavy  labor  of  one  soldier  who  tramped  at 
intervals  up  the  turret  stair,  carrying  ammu- 
nition. 

The  day  had  dawned  rainless  but  sullen. 
It  was  Good  Friday.  The  women  huddling 
in  the  hall  out  of  their  usual  haunts  noticed 
Marguerite's  refusal  even  of  the  broth  the 
cook  offered  her.  She  was  restless,  like  a 
leopard,  and  seemed  full  of  electrical  cur- 
rents which  found  no  discharge  except  in 
the  flicker  of  her  eyes.  Leaving  the  group 
of  settles  by  the  fireplace  where  these  simj^le 
families  felt  more  at  home  and  least  intru- 
sive on  the  grandeur  of  the  hall,  she  put 
herself  on  a  distant  chair  with  her  face 
turned  from  them.  This  gave  the  women  a 
chance  to  backbite  her,  to  note  her  roused 


-I  ;i . 


THE  SECOND   DAY. 


157 


mood,  and  to  accuse  her  among  themselves 
of  wishing  evil  to  the  fort  and  consequently 
to  their  husbands. 

"  She  hath  the  closest  mouth  in  Acadia," 
murmured  one.  "  Doth  anybody  in  these 
walls  certainly  know  that  she  came  from 
D'Aulnay  ?  " 

"The  Swiss,  her  husband,  told  it." 

"  And  if  she  find  means  to  go  back  to 
D'Aulnay,  it  will  appear  where  she  came 
from,"  suggested  Zelie. 

"  I  would  he  had  her  now,"  said  the  first 
woman.  "  I  have  that  feeling  for  her  that 
1  have  for  a  cat  with  its  hairs  on  end." 

Madame  La  Tour  came  to  the  hall  and 
sat  briefly  and  alone  at  her  own  table  to 
take  her  dinner  and  supper.  Later  in  the 
siege  she  stood  and  merely  took  food  from 
the  cook's  hands,  talking  with  and  comfort- 
ing her  women  while  she  ate.  The  surgeon 
of  the  fort  was  away  with  La  Tour.  She 
laid  bandages  ready,  and  felt  obliged  to 
dress  not  only  the  first  but  every  wound 
received. 


Ml, 


:fl 


m 

m 


lili 

It,' 


P 

\:h, 


158    TUE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

Pierre  Doucett  was  brought  from  one  of 
the  bastions  stunned  and  bleeding,  and  his 
wife  rose  up  with  her  baby  in  her  arms, 
filling  the  hall  with  her  cries.  The  baby 
and  her  neighbors'  children  were  moved  to 
join  her.  But  the  eye  of  her  lady  was  as 
awful  as  Pierre's  wound.  Her  outcry  sunk 
to  a  whimper;  she  hushed  the  children, 
and  swept  them  off  the  settle  so  Pierre 
could  lie  there,  and  even  paid  out  the  roll 
of  bandage  with  one  hand  while  her  lady 
used  it.  Marie  controlled  her  own  faint- 
ness ;  for  a  woman  on  whom  a  man's  labors 
are  imposed  must  bear  them. 

The  four  little  children  stood  with  fingers 
in  their  mouths,  looking  at  these  grim  to- 
kens of  war.  All  day  long  they  heard  the 
crashing  or  thumping  of  balls,  and  felt  the 
leap  and  rebound  of  cannon.  The  cook, 
when  he  came  down  from  a  bastion  to  at- 
tend to  his  kettles,  gave  them  nice  bits  to 
eat,  and  in  spite  of  solemnity,  they  counted 
it  a  holiday  to  be  in  the  hall.  Pierre  Dou- 
cett groaned  upon  his  settle,  and  Madame 


ill 


THE  SECOND  DAY.  159 

La  Tour  being  on  the  lookout  in  the  turret, 
Pierre  Doucett's  wife  again  took  to  wailiii^ 
over  him.  The  other  women  comforted  hei 
with  their  ignorant  sympatliy,  and  Mar- 
guerite sat  with  her  back  to  it  all.  But  the 
children  adapted  themselves  to  the  situation, 
and  trooped  across  to  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
way  to  play  war.  On  tliat  grim  pavement 
door  which  led  down  into  the  keep  they  shot 
each  other  with  merry  cannonading  and 
were  laid  out  in  turn  on  the  steps. 

Le  Kossignol  passed  hours  of   that  day 
sitting  on  the  broad  door-sill  of  the  tower. 
She  loved  to  watch  the  fiery  rain  ;  but  she 
was  also  waiting  for  a  lull  in  the  cannon- 
ading  that  she  might  release  her  swan.     He 
was  always  forbidden  the  rooms  in  the  tower 
by  her  lady ;  for  he  was  a  pugnacious  crea- 
ture,  quick   to  strike  with   beak   or   wings 
any  one  who  irritated  him.     Especially  did 
he   seem    tutored  in  the  dwarf's  dislike  of 
Lady  Dorinda.     In  peaceful  times  when  she 
descended  to  the  ground  and  took  a  sylvan 
excursion  outside  the  fort,  he  ruffled  all  his 


f'-i 


^ 


\ 


'II 


li  i 


ii 


h 


160      Tin-:  LADY  or  fout  st.  joiin. 

feathers  and  pursued  her  even  from  the 
river.  Lo  Kossi^niol  had  a  forked  branch 
with  which  she  yoked  him  as  soon  as  D'Aul- 
nay's  vessels  alarmed  the  fort.  She  also 
tied  him  by  one  leg  under  his  usual  shelter, 
the  pent  -  house  of  the  mill.  He  always 
sulked  at  restraint,  but  Le  Rossignol  main- 
tained discipline.  In  the  destruction  of  the 
oven  and  the  reeling  of  the  mill,  Shubena- 
cadie  leaped  upward  and  fell  back  flat- 
tened upon  the  ground.  The  fragments  had 
scarcely  settled  before  his  mistress  had  him 
in  her  arms.  At  the  risk  of  her  life  she 
dragged  him  across  to  the  entrance,  and  sat 
desolately  crumbling  away  between  her  fin- 
gers such  feathers  as  were  singed  upon  him, 
and  sleeking  his  long  gasping  neck.  She 
swallowed  piteously  w' ith  suspense,  but  could 
not  bring  herself  to  examine  his  body.  He 
had  his  feet ;  he  had  his  wings  ;  and  finally 
he  sat  up  of  his  own  accord,  and  quavered 
some  slight  remark  about  the  explosion. 

"  What  ails  thee  ?  "  exclaimed  the  dwarf 
indignantly.     *'  Thou  great  coward  I    To  lie 


^    T    ■    i  I, 

li-i-      J; 

il  I    I 


I 


1 


TIIK  SKCOXD   DAY 


IGl 


down  and  gasp  and  sicken  my  lieart  for  tlio 
singeing  of  a  few  feathers  !  " 

She  boxed  the  phice  where  a  swan's  ear 
should  be,  and  Shubenaeadie  bit  lier.  It 
was  a  serene  and  happy  moment  for  both  of 
them.  Le  Rossignol  opened  the  door  and 
pushed  him  in.  Shubenacadie  stood  awk- 
wardly with  his  feet  sprawled  on  the  hall 
pavement,  and  looked  at  tlie  scenes  to  which 
his  mistress  introduced  him.  He  noticed 
Marguerite,  and  hissed  at  her. 

"  Be  still,  madman,"  admonished  the 
dwarf.  "  Thou  art  an  intruder  here.  The 
peasants  will  drive  thee  up  chimney.  Low- 
l)orn  people,  when  they  get  into  good  quar- 
ters, always  try  to  put  their  betters  out." 

Shubenacadie  waddled  on,  scarcely  recov- 
ered from  the  prostration  of  his  fright,  and 
inclined  to  hold  the  inmates  of  the  tower 
accountable  for  it.  Marie  had  just  left 
Pierre  Doucett,  and  his  nurses  were  so  busy 
with  him  that  the  swan  was  not  detected 
until  he  scattered  the  children  from  the 
stairs. 


1  ■  t' 


Si    I 


:.i 


p 


1G2 


77//:  LADY  OF  FORT  HT.  JOHN. 


\ti 


?! 


1,  ^ 


HI 


ii 


IH 


"  Now,  Mademoiselle  Niglitliigale,"  said 
Zelie,  coining  heavily  across  the  Hags,  "  have 
we  not  enough  strange  cattle  in  this  tower, 
that  you  must  bring  that  creature  in  against 
my  lady's  orders  ?  " 

"  He  shall  not  stand  out  there  under 
D'Aulnay's  guns.  Besides,  Madame  Marie 
hath  need  of  him,"  declared  Lc  Kossignol 
impudently.  "  She  would  have  me  ride  to 
D'Aulnay's  camp  and  bring  her  word  how 
many  men  have  fallen  there  to-day." 

Zelie  shivered  through  her  indignation. 

"  Do  you  tell  me  such  a  tale,  when  you 
were  shut  in  the  turret  for  that  very  sin  ?  " 

"  Sin  that  is  sin  in  peace  is  virtue  in 
war,"  responded  Le  Rossignol.  "Mount, 
Shubenacadie." 

"  My  lady  will  have  his  neck  wrung," 
threatened  Zdlie. 

"  She  dare  not.  The  chimney  will  tumble 
in.     The  fort  will  be  taken." 

"  Art  thou  working  against  us  ?  "  de- 
manded the  maid  wrathfuUy. 

"  Why   should   I   work   for  you  ?     You 


TUK  SECOND  DAY, 


1G3 


should,  indeed,  work  for  me.  Pick  me  up 
this  swan  and  curry  liini  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs." 

"  I  will  not  do  it!  "  cried  Zdlie,  revolting- 
through  every  atom  of  her  ample  bulk.  "  Do 
I  want  to  be  lifted  over  the  turret  like 
thistledown  ?  " 

The  dwarf  laughed,  and  caught  her  swan 
by  the  back  of  his  neck.  With  webbed  toes 
and  beating  wings  he  fought  every  step,  but 
she  pulled  herself  up  by  the  balustrade  and 
dragged  him  along.  His  bristling  plumage 
scraped  the  upper  floor  until  he  and  his 
wrath  were  shut  within  the  dwarf's  cham- 
ber. 

"Naught  but  muscle  and  bone  and  fire 
and  flax  went  to  the  making  of  that  stunted 
wight,"  mused  Zelie,  setting  her  knuckles  in 
her  hips.  "  What  a  pity  that  she  escapes 
powder  and  ball,  when  poor  Pierre  Doucett 
is  shot  down  I—a  man  with  wife  and  child, 
and  useful  to  my  lady  besides." 

It  was  easy  for  Claude  La  Tour's  widow 
to  fill  her  idleness  with  visions  of  political 


'  i 
f 

:  I 

I 


w 

I 


104 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


)\ 


if 
if. 


Ul' 


H 


alliance,  but  when  D'Aiilnay  de  Charnisay 
began  to  batter  the  walls  round  her  ears, 
her  common  sense  resumed  sway.  She  could 
be  of  no  use  outside  her  apartment,  so  slie 
took  her  meals  there,  trembling,  but  in  her 
fashion  resolute  and  courageous.  The  crasli 
of  cannon-shot  was  forever  associated  with 
her  first  reception  in  Acadia.  Therefore 
this  F'.ege  was  a  torture  to  her  memory  as 
well  as  a  peril  to  her  body.  The  tower  had 
no  more  sheltered  place,  however,  than  Lady 
Dorinda's  room.  Zelie  had  orders  to  wait 
upon  her  with  strict  attention.  The  can- 
nonading dying  away  as  darkness  lifted  its 
wall  between  the  ojiposed  forces,  she  hoped 
for  such  sleej)  as  could  be  had  in  u  besieged 
place,  and  wai^'d  Zdlie's  knock.  War,  like 
II  deluge,  may  drive  people  who  detest  each 
other  into  endurable  contact ;  and  when, 
without  even  a  warning  stroke  on  the  panel, 
Le  Ttossignol  slipped  in  as  nimbly  as  a 
spider.  Lady  Dorinda  felt  no  such  indigna- 
tion as  she  would  have  felt  in  ordinary 
times. 


f,     ! 


i 

w 


■i 


THE  SECOND  DAY. 


165 


"  May  I  sit  by  your  fire,  your  liiglmess  ?  " 
sweetly  asked  the  dwarf.  Lady  Dorliida 
held  out  a  finger  to  indicate  the  chimney- 
side  and  to  stay  further  in-ogress.  Tlie 
sallow  and  corpulent  woman  gazed  at  the 
beak-faced  atom. 

"  It  hath  been  repeated  a  thousand  times, 
but  I  will  say  again  I  am  no  hlglinoss." 

Le  Kossignol  took  the  rebuke  as  a  bird 
might  liave  taken  it,  her  bright  round  eyes 
reflecting    steadily    the    overblown    mortal 
o]iposite.     She  had  never  called  Lady  Do- 
rinda  anything  except  "  her  highness."    Tlie 
dullest  soldier  grinned  at  the  apt  sarca.tic 
title.     When  Marie  brought  her  to  account 
for  this  annoyance,  she  explained  that  she 
could  not  call  Lady  Dorinda  anything  else. 
Was  a  poor  dwarf  to  be  pi  nished  because 
people  made  light  of  every  word  she  used  ? 
Yet  this  innocent  creature  took  a  i)k'asure 
of  lier  own  in  laying  the  term  like  an  occa- 
sional lash  on  the  woman  who  so  despised 
her.     Le  Kossignol    sat  with  arms   around 
her  knees,  on  the  hearth  corner.     Lady  Do- 


'*■(*! 


Z-- 


V" 

If:- ' 

i 


IGG        Tlfl'J   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN: 

rintla   in    her  cusliloncd   chair  chewed  aro- 
matic seeds. 

Tlie  room,  like  a  flower  garden,  exhaled 
all  its  perfumes  at  evening.  Bottles  of  es- 
s(!nces  and  pots  of  pomade  and  small  bags 
of  i)0wders  were  set  out,  for  the  luxurious 
use  of  its  inmate  when  Zelie  prepared  her 
for  the  night.  Le  Rossignol  enjoyed  these 
scents.  The  sweet-odored  atmosphere  which 
clung  about  Lady  Dorinda  was  her  one  at- 
tribute approved  by  the  dwarf.  Madame 
Marie  never  in  any  way  appealed  to  the 
nose.  Madame  Marie's  garments  were 
scentless  as  outdoor  air,  and  the  freshness 
)f  outdoor  air  seemed  to  belong  to  them. 
Le  Kossignol  liked  to  Iiave  her  senses  stimu- 
lated, and  she  counted  it  a  lucky  thing  to 
sit  by  that  deep  fire  and  smell  the  heavy 
fragrance  of  the  room.  A  branched  silver 
candlestick  held  two  lighted  tapers  on  the 
dressing  -  table  The  bed  curtains  were 
parted,  revealing  a  huge  expanse  of  resting- 
])lace  within ;  and  heavy  folds  shut  the 
starlit-world  from  the  windows.     One  could 


THE  SECOND  DAY.  1G7 

here  ioYcrat  tliat  the  oven  was  blown  up,  and 
the  ground  of  the  fort  jdowed  with  shot  and 
sown  with  mortar. 

"  Is  there  no  fire  in  the  hall  ?  "  inquired 
Lady  Dorinda. 

"  It  hath  all  the  common  lierd  from  the 
barracks  around  it/'  exphiined  Le  Kossig- 
nol.  "And  Pierre  Doucett  is  stretched 
there,  groaning  over  the  loss  of  half  his 
face." 

''  Where  is  Madame  La  Tour  ?  " 
"She  hatli  gone  out  on  the  waUs  since 
the  firing  stopped.  Our  gunner  in  the  tur- 
ret told  me  that  two  guns  are  to  be  moved 
back  before  moonrise  into  the  bastions  they 
were  taken  from.  Madame  Marie  is  afraid 
D'Aulnay  will  try  to  encompass  the  fort 
to-nioht." 

"And  what  business  took  thee  into  the 
turret  ?  " 

"  Your  highness  "  — 

"  Ladyship,"  corrected  Lady  Dorinda. 

— '*I  like  to  see  D'Aulnay's  torches," 
proceeded  the  dwarf,  without  accepting  cor- 


1\ 


pi 


■!'•■■ 


r!,  i 


1G8 


r/zz:  zjz)}'  0/'  F<97?r  st.  jo /in. 


rection.  "  His  soldiers  are  burying  the  dead 
over  there.  lie  needs  a  stone  tower  with 
walls  seven  feet  thick  like  ours,  does  D'Aul- 
nay." 

Lady  Dorinda  put  another  seed  in  her 
mouth,  and  reflected  that  Zelie's  attendance 
was  tardier  than  usual.  She  inquired  with 
shadings  of  disapjiroval,  — 

"  Is  Madame  La  Tour's  woman  also  on 
the  walls  ?  " 

"  Not  Zelie,  your  highness  "  — 

"  Ladyship,"  insisted  Lady  Dorinda. 

"That  heavy-foot  Zelie,"  chuckled  the 
dwarf,  deaf  to  correction,  "a  fine  bit  of 
thistledown  would  she  be  to  blow  around 
the  walls.  Zelie  is  laying  beds  for  the  chil- 
dren, and  she  hath  come  to  words  with  the 
cook  through  trying  to  stenl  eggs  to  roast 
for   them.     We    have   but   few   wild   fowl 


^rl!  { 


eo'ffs  in  store." 

"  Tell  her  tlir.t  I  require  her,"  said  Lady 
Dorinda,  fretted  by  the  irregularities  of  life 
in  a  siege.  "  Madame  La  Tour  will  account 
with  her  if  she  neglects  her  rightful  duties." 


4:  f 


THE  SECOND  DAY. 


169 


Le  Kossignol  crawled  leluctantly  up  to 
stand  in  her  dots  of  moccasins. 

"  Yes,  your  highness  "  — 

"  Ladyship,"  repeated  Ckude  La  Tour's 
"vidow,  to  whom  the  sting  was  forever  fresh, 
reminding  her  of  a  once  possible  regency. 

"  But  have  you  heard  about  the  woman 
that  was  brought  into  the  fortress  before 
Madame  Bronck  went  away  ?  " 

"  What  of  her  ?  " 

"  The  Swiss  says  she  comes  from  D'AuI- 
nay." 

"  It  is  Zelie  that  I  require,"  said  Lady 
Doiiiida  with  discouraging  brevity.  Le 
Rossignol  dropped  her  face,  appenring  to 
give  round-eyed  speculation  to  the  fire. 

"  It  is  believed  that  D'Aulnay  sent  hy 
that  strange  woman  a  box  of  poison  into  the 
fort  t3  work  secret  mischief.  But,"  added 
the  dwarf,  looking  up  in  open  perjdexity, 
"  that  box  cannot  now  be  found." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  v/hat  manner  of 
box  it  was,"  said  Liuly  Dorinda  with  irony, 
though  a  dull  red  was  startled  into  her 
cheeks. 


M 


I'l 


170 


tup:  lady  of  fort  st.  john. 


"  Madame  Marie  says  it  was  a  tiny  box 
of  oak,  thick  set  with  nails.  She  woukl  not 
alarm  the  fort,  so  she  had  search  made  for 
it  in  Madame  Bronck's  name." 

Lady  Dorinda,  incredulous,  hut  trem- 
bling, divined  at  once  that  the  dwarf  had 
hid  that  coffer  in  her  chest.  Perhaps  the 
dwarf  had  procured  the  hand  and  replaced 
some  valuable  of  Madame  Bronck's  with  it. 
She  longed  to  have  the  little  beast  shaken 
and  made  to  confess.  While  she  was  con- 
sidering what  she  could  do  with  dignity, 
Zclie  rapped  and  was  admitted,  and  Le  lios- 
signol  escaped  into  outside  darkness. 

Hours  passed,  however,  before  Shuben- 
acadie's  i  .istress  sought  his  so<'iety.  She 
undressed  in  her  black  cell  which  had  but 
one  loop-hole  looking  toward  the  north,  and 
taking  the  swan  upon  her  bed  tried  to 
reconcile  him  to  blankets.  But  Shuben- 
acadie  2)rotested  with  both  wings  against  a 
woolly  covering  which  was  not  in  his  expe- 
rience. The  times  were  disjointed  for  him. 
He  took  no  interest  in  Lady  Dorinda  and 


'1 

■■!■ 


Tin:  SKCOND  DAY.  I'Ji 

the  box  of  Madame  Bronck,  and  scratched 
the  pallet  with  his  toes  and  the  nail  at  the 
end  of  his  bill.  But  Le  Kossio-nol  pushed 
him  down  and  pressed  her  confidences  upon 
this  familiar. 

"  So  her  highness  threw  that  box  out  into 
the  fort.     I  had    to    shiver  and    wait   until 
Zelie  left  her,  but  I  knew  she  would  choose 
to  rid  herself  of  it  throuo-h  a  window,  for 
she    would    scarce    burn    it,    she    hath   not 
adroitness  to  drop  it  in  the  hall,  show  it  to 
Madame  Marie  she  would  not,  and  keep  it 
longer  to  poison  her  court  gowns  she  dare 
not.     She  hath  found  it  before  this.     Her 
looking-glass  was  the  only  place  apter  than 
that   chest.     I  would   give   much   to  know 
what   her  yellow  highness  thought  of   that 
hand.     Here,   mine    own    Shubenacadie,    I 
have  brought  thee  this  sweet  biscuit  moist- 
ened  with   water.      Eat,   and   scratch    me 
not. 

"  And  little  did  its  studding  of  nails  avail 
the  box,  for  the  fall  split  it  in  three  pieces  ; 
and  I  hid  them  under  rubbish,  for  mortar 


'1 


If'.  :■■ 

I  '.i  .  ' 


m 


\h 


172 


77/ A'   A.l/M'   OF  Four  ST.    JOHN. 


and  stones  arc  plentiful  down  there.  You 
should  have  seen  my  shade  stretch  under 
the  moon  like  a  tall  hobgoblin.  The  near- 
est sentinel  on  the  wall  challenges  me. 
*  Who  is  there  ? '  '  Le  Kossignol.'  '  What 
are  you  doing  ?  '  *  Looking  for  my  swan's 
yoke.'  Then  he  laughs  —  little  knowing 
how  I  meant  to  serve  his  officer.  The  IIol- 
landais  mummy  hath  been  of  more  use  to 
me  than  trinkets.  T  frightened  her  high- 
ness with  it,  and  now  it  is  set  to  torment  the 
Swiss.  Let  me  tell  thee,  Shubenacadie : 
punishment  comes  even  on  a  swan  who 
woidd  stretch  up  his  neck  and  stand  taller 
than  his  mistress.  Wert  thou  not  blown 
up  with  the  oven  ?  Hide  thy  head  and  take 
warning." 


I 

1^.  !' 

t     > 

k^ 

^ 

XIV. 


THE   STHLGGLE   BETWEEN   POWERS. 

The    dwarf's    report    about    Klussmaii 
forced    Madame   La   Tour    to   watcli    the 
strange  girl ;  but  Marguerite  seemed  to  take 
no  notice  of  any  soldier  who  came  and  went 
in  the  hall.     As  for  the  Swiss,  he  carried 
trouble   on  his  self-revealing  face,  but   not 
treachery.     Klussman   camped  at  night  on 
the   floor   with    other   soldiers   off    guard; 
screens  and  the  tall  settles  being  placed  in 
a   row  between    this   military  bivouac   and 
women  and  children  of  the  household  pro- 
tected near  the  stairs.     He  awoke  as  often 
as  the  guard  was  changed,  and  when  dawn- 
light   instead   of   moonlight   appeared  with 
the  last  relief,  he  sprang  up,  and  took  the 
breastplate  which  had   been  laid   aside  for 
his  better  rest.     Out  of  its  hollow  fell  Jonas 


11  -I 


I'i!' 


:  1 
i 

If  ^     ; 

1 

'-. 
1' 

174        THE   LADY    OF  FORT  tiT.   JOllX. 

BroiK'k's  luiiul,  bare  and  croueliing  with 
stiff  fingers  on  the  pavement.  The  sohliers 
about  to  He  down  hiughed  at  themselves  and 
Khissman  for  reeoiling  fi-om  it,  and  fury 
sueeeeded  paHor  in  his  bh>nd  facjc. 

"  Did  you  do  that  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the 
men,  but  before  they  could  utter  denials, 
his  suspicion  leaped  the  settles.  Spurning* 
Jonas  Bronck's  treasured  fragment  with  his 
boot  in  a  manner  which  Antonia  could  never 
have  forgiven,  Klussman  sent  it  to  the 
hearth  and  strode  after  it.  lie  had  not  far 
to  look  for  Marguerite.  As  his  eye  traveled 
recklessly  into  the  women's  camp,  he  en- 
countered her  beside  him,  sitting  on  the 
floor  behind  a  settle  and  matching  the  red 
of  a  burning  tree  trunk  with  the  red  of  her 
bruised  eyelids. 

"  Did  you  put  that  in  my  breastplate  ?  " 
said  Klussman,  pointing  to  the  hand  as  it 
lay  palm  upwards.  Marguerite  shuddered 
and  burst  out  crying.  This  had  been  her 
employment  much  of  the  night,  but  the 
nervous  fit  of  childish  weeping  swept  away 
all  of  Klussman's  self-control. 


TlIK   STRLGGLi:  lil.rWEKN  roWLUi^.     175 

"  No  ;  no  ;  "  she  ropoiited.  "  You  think 
I  do  everything  that  is  horrible."  And  she 
sobbed  n})on  her  liands. 

Klussnian  stooped  down  and  tossed  the 
liand  like  an  eseaped  eoal  behind  the  log. 
As  he  stooped  he  said,  — 

*"  I  don't  think  that.  Don't  ery.  If  you 
cry  I  will  shoot  ni3self." 

iNIargnerite  looked  nj>  and  saw  his  help- 
lessness in  his  faee.  He  had  sought  her 
before,  but  only  with  reproaehes.  Now  his 
resentment  was  broken.  Twice  had  the 
dwarf's  mischief  thrown  ^larguerite  on  his 
compassion,  and  thereby  diminished  his  I'c- 
sistance  to  her.  Jonas  Bronek's  hand,  in 
its  red-hot  seclusion  behind  the  log,  writhed 
and  smoked,  discharging  its  grosser  parts 
up  the  chimney's  shaft.  Unseen,  it  lay  a 
wire-like  outline  of  bone  ;  nnseen,  it  became 
a  hand  of  fairy  ashes,  trembling  in  every 
filmy  atom ;  finally  an  ember  fell  upon  it, 
and  where  a  hand  had  been  some  bits  of 
lime  lay  in  a  white  glov;. 

Klussman  went  out  and  mounted  one   of 


di 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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176 


rilE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


the  bastions,  where  the  gunners  were  al- 
ready preparing  for  work.  The  weather 
had  changed  in  the  night,  and  the  sky 
seemed  immeasurably  lifted  while  yet  filled 
with  the  uncertainties  of  dawn.  Fundy  Bay 
revealed  more  and  more  of  its  clean  blue- 
emerald  level,  and  far  eastward  the  glassy 
water  shaded  up  to  a  flushing  of  pink. 
Smoke  rose  from  the  mess  fires  in  D'Aul- 
nay's  camp.  The  first  light  puff  of  burnt 
powder  sprung  from  his  batteries,  and  the 
artillery  duel  again  began. 

"  If  we  had  but  enough  soldiers  to  make 
a  sally,"  said  Madame  La  Tour  to  her  offi- 
cer, as  she  also  came  for  an  instant  to  the 
bastion,  "  we  might  take  his  batteries.  Oh, 
for  monsieur  to  appear  on  the  bay  with  a 
stout  shipload  of  men." 

"  It  is  time  he  came,"  said  the  Swiss. 

"Yes,  we  shall  see  him  or  have  news  of 
him  soon." 

In  the  tumult  of  Klussman's  mind  Jonas 
Bronck's  hand  never  again  came  uppermost. 
He  cared  nothing  and  thought  nothing  about 


TnE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.     177 

that  weird  fragment,  in  the  midst  of  living 
disaster.  It  had  merely  been  the  occasion 
of  his  surrendering  to  Marguerite.  He  de- 
termined that  when  La  Tour  returned  and 
the  siege  was  raised,  if  he  survived  he  would 
take  his  wife  and  go  to  some  new  colony. 
Live  without  her  he  could  not.  Yet  neither 
could  he  reuspouse  her  in  Fort  St.  John, 
where  he  had  himself  openly  denounced  her. 

Spring  that  day  leaped  forward  to  a  sem- 
blance of  June.  The  sun  poured  warmth  ; 
the  very  air  renewed  life.  But  to  Kluss- 
man  it  was  the  brilliancy  of  passing  de- 
lirium. He  did  not  feel  when  gun-metal 
touched  his  hands.  The  sound  of  the  in- 
coming tide,  which  could  be  heard  betwixt 
artillery  boomings,  and  the  hint  of  birds 
which  that  sky  gave,  were  mute  against  his 
thoughts. 

Though  D'Aulnay's  loss  was  visibly 
heavy,  it  proved  also  an  ill  day  for  the  fort. 
The  southeast  bastion  was  raked  by  a  fire 
which  disabled  the  guns  and  killed  three 
men.     Five  others  were  wounded  at  various 


i;  I 


178 


77/ A'   LADY  OF  FOHT  ST.   JOHN. 


■    \ 


■'i| 


posts.  The  long  spring  twilight  sunk 
through  an  orange  horizon  rim  and  filled 
up  the  measure  which  makes  night,  before 
firing  reluctantly  stopped.  Marie  had 
ground  opened  near  the  powdur  magazine 
to  make  a  temporary  grave  for  her  three 
dead.  They  had  no  families.  She  held  a 
taper  in  her  hand  and  read  a  service  over 
them.  One  bastion  and  so  many  men  being 
disabled,  a  sentinel  was  posted  in  the  turret 
after  tlie  gunners  descended.  The  Swiss 
took  this  duty  on  himself,  and  felt  his  way 
up  the  pitch-black  stairs.  lie  had  not  seen 
Marguerite  in  the  hall  when  he  Imrriedly 
took  food,  but  she  was  safe  in  the  tower. 
No  woman  ventured  out  in  the  storm  of 
shot.  The  barracks  were  charred  and  bat- 
tered. 

As  Klussman  reached  the  turret  door  he 
exclaimed  against  some  human  touch,  but 
caught  his  breath  and  surrendered  himself 
to  Marguerite's  arms,  holding  her  soft 'body 
and  smoothing  her  silk-stranded  hair. 

"I   heard  you   say  you  would  come  up 


THE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.    179 

here,"   murmured   Marguerite.     "And  the 
door  was  unlocked." 

"  Where  have  you  been  since  morning  ?  " 

"  Beliind  a  screen  in  the  great  hall.  The 
women  arc  cruel." 

Klussxnan  hated  the  women.  He  kissed 
his  wife  with  the  first  kiss  since  their  separa- 
tion, and  all  the  toils  of  war  failed  to  unman 
him  like  that  kiss. 

"  But  there  was  that  child  !  "  he  groaned. 

"  That  was  not  my  child,"  said  Mar- 
guerite. 

"  The  baby  brought  here  with  you  !  " 

"  It  was  not  mine." 

"  Whose  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  drunken  soldier's.  His  wife 
died.  They  made  me  take  care  of  it,"  said 
Marguerite  resentfully. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that?"  ex- 
claimed  Klussman.  "  You  made  me  lie  to 
my  lady ! " 

Marguerite  had  no  answer.  He  under- 
stood her  reticence,  and  the  degradation 
which  could  not  be  excused. 


.i  ^:i 


*      ! 


in 


i 


180 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


"  Who  made  you  take  care  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  did." 

"  D'Aulnay  ?  "  Klussman  uttered  through 
his  teeth. 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  like  him." 

"  /like  him  I  "  said  the  savage  Swiss. 

"  He  is  cruel,"  complained  Marguerite, 
"andselHsh." 

The  Swiss  pressed  his  cheek  to  her  soft 
cheek. 

*'  I  never  was  selfish  and  cruel  to  thee," 
he  said,  weakly. 

"  No,  you  never  were." 

"  Then  why,"  burpt  out  the  husband 
afresh,  "  did  you  leave  me  to  follow  that 
beast  of  prey  ?  " 

Marguerite  brought  a  sob  from  her  breast 
which  was  like  a  sword  through  Kluss- 
man.    He  smoothed  and  smoothed  her  hair. 

"But  what  did  I  ever  do  to  thee,  Mar- 
guerite ? "       • 

**  I  always  -iked  you  best,"  she  said. 
"  But  he  was  a  great  lord.  The  women  in 
barracks  are  so  hateful,  and  a  common  sol- 
dier is  naught." 


TUE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.    181 

"  You  would  be  the  lady  of  a  seignior," 
hissed  Klussman. 

"Thou  kuowest  I  was  fit  for  that,"  re- 
torted Marguerite  with  spirit. 

"  I  know  thou  wert.  It  is  marrying  me 
that  has  been  thy  ruin."  He  groaned  with 
his  head  hanging, 

"  We  are  not  ruined  yet,"  she  said,  "  if 
you  care  for  me." 

"  That  was  a  stranger  child  ? "  he  re- 
peated. 

"  All  the  train  knew  it  to  be  a  mother- 
less child.     He  had  no  right  to  thrust  it  on 


me." 

"I  demand  no  testimony  of  D'Aulnay's 
followers,"  said  Klassman  roughly. 

He  let  her  go  fro!n  his  arms,  and  stepped 
to  the  battlements.  His  gaze  moved  over 
the  square  of  the  fortress,  and  eastward  to 
that  blur  of  whiteness  which  hinted  the  ene- 
my's tents,  the  hint  being  verified  by  a  light 
or  two. 

"  I  have  a  word  to  tell  you,"  said  JVIar- 
guerite,  leaning  beside  her  husband. 


i: 


if 


I 


1l  ti 


:i;  '^ 


k 


^i 


1 
I  I 


: 


182        Tflf:  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

"  I  have  this  to  tell  thee,"  said  the  Swiss. 
"  We  must  leave  Acadia."  I  lis  arm  again 
fondled  her,  and  he  comforted  his  sore  spirit 
with  an  instant's  thought  of  home  and  peace 
somewhere. 

"  Yes.  We  can  go  to  Penobscot,"  she 
said. 

''  Penobscot  ? "  he  repeated  with  suspi- 
cion. 

"  The  king  will  give  you  a  grant  of 
Penobscot." 

"  The  king  will  give  it  to  —  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And  it  is  a  great  seigniory." 

"  How  do  you  know  the  king  will  do 
that  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  to  tell  you ;  he  promised 
it." 

"  The  king  ?    You  never  saw  the  king." 

"  No." 

"D'Aulnay?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  would  I  had  him  by  the  throat  I  " 
burst  out  Klussman.  Marguerite  leaned  her 
cheek  on  the  stone  and  sighed.     The  bay 


THE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.    183 


Hecmed  full  of  salty  spice.  It  was  a  night 
in  which  the  human  soul  must  beat  against 
casements  to  break  free  and  roam  the 
blessed  dark.  All  of  spring  was  in  the  air. 
Directly  overhead  stood  the  north  star,  with 
slow  constellations  wheeling  in  review  before 
him. 

*'  So  D'Aulnay  sent  you  to  spy  on  my 
lord,  as  my  lord  believed?" 

*^  You  shall  not  call  me  a  spy.  I  came  to 
my  husband.  I  hate  him,"  she  added  in  a 
resentful  burst.  "He  made  me  walk  the 
marshes,  miles  and  miles  alone,  carrying 
that  child." 

"Why  the  child?" 

"  Because  the  people  from  St.  John  would 
be  sure  to  pity  it." 

"  And  what  word  did  he  send  you  to  tell 
me  ?  "  demanded  Klussman.  "  Give  me  that 
word." 

Marguerite  waited  with  her  face  down- 
cast. 

"  It  was  kind  of  him  to  think  of  me," 
said  the  Swiss ;  "  and  to  send  you  with  the 


a 


1 


! 


message 


!" 


■  j . 

'  1 

t 
i 

'    1 

1 
'•'1 ' 

1 

ii . 

W 

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j     1 

t 

'i    1 

f 

1, 

1  i 

i 

n 


•  : 


184 


T/IE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHX. 


She  felt  mocked,  and  drooped  against  the 
wall.  And  in  the  midst  of  his  scorn  he  took 
her  face  in  his  hands  with  a  softness  ho 
could  not  master. 

"  Give  me  the  word,"  he  repeated.  Mar- 
guerite drew  his  neck  down  and  whispered, 
but  before  she  finished  whispering  Kluss- 
man  flung  her  against  the  cannon  with  an 
oath. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be,  betray  my  lord's 
fortress  to  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay !  Go 
down  stairs.  Marguerite  Klussman.  When 
I  have  less  matter  in  hand,  I  will  flog  thee  ! 
Hast  thou  no  wit  at  all  ?  To  come  from  a 
man  who  broke  faith  with  thee,  and  offer 
his  faith  to  me  I  Bribe  me  with  Penobscot 
to  betray  St.  John  to  him !  " 

Marguerite  sat  on  the  floor.  She  whis- 
pered, gasping,  — 

"  Tell  not  the  whole  fortress." 

Klussman  ceased  to  talk,  but  his  heels 
rung  on  the  stone  as  he  paced  the  turret. 
He  felt  himself  grow  old  as  silence  became 
massive  betwixt  his   wife   and   him.     The 


^  THE  .STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.    185 

moon  rose,  piercing  the  cannon  embrasure, 
and  showed  ]\farguerite  weeping  against  the 
wall.     The  mass  of  silence  drove  him  re- 
sistless before  her  will.    Tliat  soft  and  child- 
like shape  did  not  propose  treason  to  him. 
He  understood  that  she  thouglit  only  of  her- 
self and  him.     It  was  her  method  of  bring, 
ing  profit  out  of  the  times.     He  heard  hts 
relief  stumble  at  the  foot  of  the  turret  stairs, 
and   went    down   the   winding   darkness  to 
stop  and  send  the  soldier  back  to  bed. 

"  I  am  not  sleepy,"  said  Klussman.  "  I 
slept  last  night.  Go  and  rest  till  daybreak." 
And  the  man  willingly  went.  Marguerite 
had  not  moved  a  fold  of  her  gown  when  her 
husband  again  came  into  the  lighted  tower. 
The  Swiss  lifted  her  up  and  made  her  stand 
beside  him  while  he  stanched  her  tears. 

"  You  hurt  me  when  you  threw  me  against 
the  cannon,"  she  said. 

"I  was  rough.  But  I  am  too  foolish 
fond  to  hold  anger.  It  has  worn  me  out 
to  be  hard  on  thee.  I  am  not  the  man  I 
was." 


\n 


;>■  * 


\      : 


!  f 


, 


M  .: 


i 
I 


186 


Tin:  LADY  or  fort  st.  john. 


Marguerite  clung  around  him.  He  dumbly 
felt  his  misfortune  in  being  tliralled  by  a 
nature  of  greater  moral  crudity  than  his 
own.    But  she  was  his  portion  in  the  world. 

"You  flung  me  against  the  cannon  be- 
cause I  wanted  you  made  a  seignior." 

"  It  was  because  D'Aulnay  wanted  me 
made  a  traitor." 

"  What  is  there  to  do,  indeed  ? "  mur- 
mured Marguerite.  '*  He  said  if  you  would 
take  the  sentinels  off  the  wall  on  the  en- 
trance side  of  the  fort,  at  daybreak  any 
morning,  he  will  be  ready  to  scale  that 
wall." 

"  But  how  will  ho  know  I  have  taken  the 
sentinels  off?  " 

"You  must  hold  up  a  ladder  in  your 
hands." 

"The  tower  is  between  that  side  of  the 
fort  and  D'Aulnay's  camp.  No  one  would 
see  me  standing  with  a  ladder  in  my 
hands." 

"  When  you  set  the  ladder  against  the 
outside  wall,  it  is  all  you  have  to  do,  except 


THE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  POWERS.    187 

to  take  me  with  you  as  you  climb  down.     It 
is  their  affair  to  see  the  signal." 

"  So  D'Aulnay  plans  an  ambush  between 
us  and  the  river  ?  And  suppose  I  did  all 
that  and  the  enemy  failed  to  see  the  signal  ? 
I  should  go  down  there  to  be  hung,  or  my 
lady  would  have  me  thrown  into  the  keep 
here,  and  perhaps  shot.  I  ought  to  be 
shot." 

"  They  will  see  the  signal,"  insisted  Mar- 
guerite.  "  I  know  all  that  is  to  be  done.  He 
made  me  say  it  over  until  I  tired  of  it.  You 
must  mount  the  wall  where  the  gate  is :  that 
side  of  the  fort  toward  the  river,  the  camp 
being  on  another  side." 

Klussman  again  smoothed  her  hair  and 
argued  with  her  as  with  a  child. 

"  I  cannot  betray  my  lady.     You  see  how 
madame  trusts  me." 

She  grieved  against  his  hard  breastplate 
with  insistence  which  pierced  even  that. 

"  I  am  indeed  not  fit  to  be  thought  on 
beside  the  lady !  " 

"  I  would  do  anything  for  thee  but  betray 
my  lady." 


¥■ 


4] 


H'f 


f 


li 


m 


188 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


a 


And  when  you  have  held  her  fort  for  her 
will  she  advance  you  by  so  much  as  a  hand- 
ful of  land  ?  " 

"  I   was   made   lieutenant   since   the  last 


siege. 


»> 


"  But  now  you  may  be  a  seignior  with  a 
holding  of  your  own,"  repeated  Marguerite. 
So  they  talked  the  night  away.  She  showed 
him  on  one  hand  a  future  of  honor  and 
plenty  which  he  ought  not  to  withhold  from 
her  ;  and  on  the  other,  a  wandering  forth  to 
endless  hardships.  D'Aulnay  had  worked 
them  harm ;  but  this  was  in  her  mind  an 
argument  that  he  should  now  work  them 
good.  Being  a  selfish  lord,  powerful  and 
cruel,  he  could  demand  this  service  as  the 
condition  of  making  her  husband  master  of 
Penobscot ;  and  the  service  itself  she  re- 
garded as  a  small  one  compared  to  her  lone 
tramping  of  the  marshes  to  La  Tour's  stock- 
ade. D'Aulnay  was  certain  to  take  Fort 
St.  John  some  time.  He  had  the  king  and 
all  France  behind  him ;  the  La  Tours  had 
nobody.    Marguerite  was  a  woman  who  could 


4  . 


THE  STRUGGLE  BETWEEN  FOWERS.    189 

see  no  harm  in  advancing  her  husband  by 
the  downfall  of  his  mere  employers.  Her 
husband  must  be  advanced.  She  saw  herself 
lady  of  Penobscot. 

The  Easter  dawn  began  to  grow  over  the 
world.  Klussman  remembered  what  day 
it  was,  and  lifted  her  up  to  look  over  the 
battlements  at  light  breaking  from  tlie 
east. 

Marguerite  turned  her  head  from  point  to 
point  of  the  dewy  world  once  more  rising 
out  of  chaos.  She  showed  her  husband  a 
new  trench  and  a  line  of  breastworks  be- 
tween the  fort  and  the  river.  These  had 
been  made  in  the  night,  and  might  have 
been  detected  by  him  if  he  had  guarded  his 
post.  The  jutting  of  rocks  probably  hid 
them  from  sentinels  below. 

*'D'Auluay  is  coming  nearer,"  said  the 
Swiss,  looking  with  haggard  indifferent  eyes 
at  these  preparations,  and  an  occasional 
head  venturing  above  the  fresh  ridge.  Mar- 
guerite threw  her  arms  around  her  hus- 
band's neck,  and  hung  on  liiui  with  kisses. 


■  i 


:!if: 


■1 


\:\ 


!i- 


II 


190   THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
the  desperate  conviction  of  a  man  who  has 
lost  himself.  "  I  have  to  do  it.  You  will  see 
me  hang  for  this,  but  I  '11  do  it  for  you." 


I 


S  ' 


I 


XV. 


A   SOLDIER. 

Marie  felt   herseH   caUed  through  the 
deepest  depths  of  sleep,  and  sat  up  in  the 
robe  of  fur  which  she  had  wrapped  around 
ber  for  her  night  bivouac.     There  was  some 
alarm  at  her  door.     The  enemy  might  be  on 
the  walls.     She  tingled  with  the  intense  re- 
turn of  life,  and  was  opening  the  door  with- 
out conscious  motion.    Nobody  stood  outside 
in  the  hall  except  the  dwarf,  whose  aureole 
of  foxy  hair  surrounded  features  pinched  by 
anxiety. 

"  Madame  Marie  —  Madame  Marie  !  The 
Swiss  has  gone  to  give  up  the  fort  to  D'Aul- 
nay." 

"  Has  gone  ?  " 

"  He  came  down  from  the  turret  with  his 
wife,  who  persuaded   him.     I  listened  all 


'i 


i 


i 


1!  I  ! 

Mi    . 


P 

in 


ii  ' 


^r^ 


(' 


I 


Mf 


; 


¥'1 

■  \v 
1:1 


u 

f 


r  i 


192 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN, 


night  on  the  stairs.  D'Aulnay  is  ready  to 
mount  the  wall  when  he  gives  the  signal. 
I  had  to  hide  me  until  the  woman  and  the 
Swiss  passed  Lelow.  They  are  now  going 
to  the  wall  to  give  the  signal." 

Through  Marie  passed  that  worst  shock  of 
all  human  experience.  To  see  your  trusted 
ally  transmuted  into  your  secret  most  deadly 
foe,  sickens  the  heart  as  death  surely  cannot 
sicken  it.  Like  many  a  pierced  wretch  who 
has  collapsed  suddenly  into  the  dust  while 
the  stab  yet  held  the  knife,  she  whispered 
feebly,  — 

"  He  could  not  do  that !  " 

The  stern  blackness  of  her  eyes  seemed 
to  annihilate  all  the  rest  of  her  face.  Was 
rock  itself  stable  under-foot  ?  Why  should 
one  care  to  prolong  life,  when  life  only 
proved  how  cruel  and  worthless  are  the  peo- 
ple for  whom  we  labor  ? 

"  Madame  Marie,  he  is  now  doing  it. 
Pie  was  to  hold  up  a  ladder  on  the  wall." 

"  Wliich  wall  ?  " 

"This  one  —  where  the  irate  is." 


A  SOLDIER.  X93 

Marie  looked  through  the  glass  in  her 
door  which  opened  toward  the  battlements, 
rubbed  aside  moisture,  and  looked  again. 
While  one  breath  could  be  drawn  Kluss- 
man  was  standing  in  the  dawn-light  with  a 
ladder  raised  overhead.  She  caught  up  a 
pair  of  long  pistols  which  had  lain  beside 
her  all  night. 

"  Rouse   the   men    below  —  quick  !  "   she 
said  to  Le  Rossignol,  and  ran  up  the  steps 
to  the  wall.     No  sentinels  were  there.     The 
Swiss  had  already  dropped  down  the  ladder 
outside  and  was  out  of  sight,  and  she  heard 
the   running,  climbing   feet   of  D'Aulnay's 
men  coming  to  take  the  advantage  afforded 
them.     Sentinels  in  the  other  two  bastions 
turned  with  surprise  at  her  cry.     They  had 
seen  Klussman  relieving  the  guard,  but  his 
subtle  action  escaped  their  watch-worn  eyes. 
They  only  noticed  that  he  had  the  strano-o 
woman  with  him. 

D'Aulnay's  men  were  at  the  foot  of  the 
wall  planting  ladders.  They  were  swarm- 
ing up.     Marie  met  them  with  the  sentinels 


If' 


m 

■  !'!' 

-   :  ?   r 


f  f 

\ 

fir 


l'^ 


rir 


n 

r 

i; 


T 


-! 


194 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


joining  her  and  the  sohliers  rushing  from 
below.  The  discliarge  of  firearms,  the  clash 
of  opposing  metals,  the  thuds  of  falling 
bodies,  cries,  breathless  struggling,  clubbed 
weapons  sweeping  the  battlements  —  filled 
one  vast  minute.  Ladders  were  thrown 
back  to  the  stones,  and  D'Aulnay's  repulsed 
men  were  obliged  to  take  once  more  to  their 
trench,  carrying  the  stunned  and  wounded. 
A  cannon  was  trained  on  their  breastworks, 
and  St.  John  belched  thunder  and  fire  down 
the  path  of  retreat.  The  Swiss's  treason 
had  been  useless  to  the  enemy.  The  people 
of  the  fort  saw  him  hurried  more  like  a 
prisoner  than  an  ally  towards  D'Aulnay's 
camp,  his  wife  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  Klussman,"  thought  the  lady  of  St. 
John,  as  she  turned  to  station  guards  at 
every  exposed  point  and  to  continue  that 
day's  fight,  "  you  knew  in  another  way  what 
it  is  to  be  betrayed.  How  could  you  put 
this  anguish  upon  me  ?  " 

The  furious  and  powder-grimed  men,  her 
faithful  soldiers,  hooted  at  the  Swiss  from 


A  SOLDIER.  ;[95 

tlieir  bastions,  not  knowing  what  a  heart  lie 
carried   with   him.      He   turned   once   and 
made  them  a  gesture  of  defiance,  more  pa- 
thetic  than  any  wail  for  pardon,  but  they 
saw  only  the  treason  of  the  man,  and  shot 
at  him  with  a  good  will.     Through  smoke 
and  ball-plowed  earth,  D'Aulnay\s  soldiers 
ran  into  camp,  and  liis  batteries  answered. 
Artillery  echoes  were  scattered  far  through 
the  woods,  into   the  very  depths   of   which 
that  untarnished  Easter  weather  seemed  to 
stoop,  coaxing  growths  from   the   swelling 
ground. 

^  Advancing  and  pausing  with  equal  cau- 
tion, a  man  came  out  of  the  northern  forest 
toward  St.  John  K:,'er.     JSTo  part  of  his  per- 
son  was  covered  with  armor.     And  instead 
of  the  rich  and  formal  dress  then  worn  by 
the  Huguenots   even  in   the  wilderness,  he 
wore  a  complete  suit  of  hunter's  buckskin 
which  gave  his  supple   muscles  a  freedom 
beautiful  to  see.   His  young  face  was  freshly 
shaved,  showing  the   clean  fine   texture   of 
the   skin.     For  having  nearly  finished   his 


i|- 


'  '  t  >l 


196 


77/ A"  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOI/y. 


y  '  ■' 


Hi 


'■^ 


journey  from  the  head  of  Fiiiuly  Bay,  he 
had  that  morning  prepared  himself  to  ap- 
pear what  he  was  in  Fort  St.  John  —  a  man 
of  good  birth  and  nurture.  Ilis  portables 
were  rolled  tightly  in  a  blanket  and  strapped 
to  his  shoulders.  A  hunting-knife  and  two 
long  pistols  armed  him.  His  head  was  cov- 
ered with  a  cap  of  beaver  skin,  and  he  wore 
moccasins.  Not  an  ounce  of  unnecessary 
weight  hampered  him. 

The  booming  of  cannon  had  met  him  so 
far  off  on  that  day's  march  that  he  under- 
stood well  the  state  of  siege  in  which  St. 
John  would  be  found  ;  and  long  before  there 
was  any  glimpse  of  D'Aulnay's  tents  and 
earthworks,  the  problem  of  getting  into  the 
fort  occupied  his  mind.  For  D'Aulnay's 
guards  might  be  extended  in  every  direc- 
tion. But  the  first  task  in  hand  was  to 
cross  the  river.  One  or  two  old  canoes 
could  be  seen  on  the  other  side  ;  cast-off 
property  of  the  Etchemin  Indians  who  had 
broken  camp.  Being  on  the  wrong  bank 
these   were   as    useless  to    him    as   dream 


A   SOLDIKli. 


107 


/ 


i 


('^inoes.     But  had  a  ferryman  stood  in  wait- 
i^n-,  it  was  perilous  to   cross   in  open  day, 
ivithin  possible  sight  of  the  enemy.     So  the 
'Soldier  moved  carefully  down   to  a  shelter 
^f  rocks  below  the  falls,  opposite  that  place 
where  Van  Corlacr  had  watched    the   tide 
I  sweep  up  and  drown  the  rapids.     From  tliis 
I  post  he  got  a  view  of  La  Tour's  small  sliip, 
/  yet  anchored  and  safe  at  its  usual  moorings.' 
^   No  human  life  was  visible  about  it. 

"The  ship  would  afford  me  good  quar- 
ters," said  the  soldier  to  himself,  « had  I 
naught  to  do  but  rest.  But  I  must  get  into 
the  fort  this  night;  and  how  is  it  to  be 
done?" 

All  the  thunders  of  war,  and  all  the  ef- 
fort and  danger  to  be  undertaken,  could  not 
put  his  late  companions  out   of   his   mind.  , 
He  lay  with  hands  clasped  under  his  head,  ' 
and  looked  back  at  the  trees  visibly  leafing 
in  the  warm  Easter  air.     They  were  mucli 
to   this   man    in   all   their   differences   and 
habits,  tlieir  whisperings  and  silences.    They 
had   marched  with   him   through   countless 


I 


i 


ill 
I 


:i   i   > 


i!!^ 


i 


■'J 


1 


i 


;  1. 


j . '  i 


.i:ii 


l^'ii 


198        r//£  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

lone  long  reachos,  passing  him  from  one  to 
another  with  friendly  recommendation.  It 
hurt  him  to  notice  a  broken  or  deformed 
one  among  them  ;  but  one  full  and  nobl  y 
equipped  from  root  to  top  crown  was  Na- 
ture's most  triumphant  shout.  There  is  a 
glory  of  the  sun  and  a  glory  of  the  moon, 
but  to  one  who  loves  them  there  is  another 
glory  of  the  trees. 

*'  In  autumn,"  thought  the  soldier,  "  I 
have  seen  light  desert  the  skies  and  take  to 
the  trees  and  finally  spread  itself  beneath 
them,  a  material  glow,  flake  on  flake.  But 
in  the  spring,  before  their  secret  is  spoken, 
when  they  throb,  and  restrain  the  force 
driving  through  them,  then  have  I  most 
comfort  with  them,  for  they  live  as  I  live." 

Shadows  grew  on  the  river,  and  ripples 
were  arrested  and  turned  back  to  flow  up 
stream.  There  was  but  one  way  for  him 
to  cross  the  river,  and  that  was  to  swim. 
And  the  best  time  to  swim  was  when  the 
tide  brimmed  over  the  current  and  trem- 
bled at  its  turn,  a  broad  and  limpid  expanse 


A  SOLDIER. 


199 


{ 


of  water,  cold,  dangerous,  repellent  to  the 
chilled  plunging  body  ;  but  safer  and  more 
easily  paddled  through  than  when  the  cur- 
rent, angular  as  a  skeleton,  sought  the  bay 
at  its  lowest  ebb. 

Fortunately  tide  and  twilight  favored  the 
young  soldier  together.  lie  stripped  him- 
self and  bound  his  weapons  and  clothes  in 
one  tight  packet  on  his  head.  At  first  it 
was  easy  to  tread  water :  the  salt  brine 
upheld  him.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  river 
it  was  wise  to  sink  close  to  the  surface  and 
carry  as  small  a  ripple  as  possible ;  for 
D'Aulnay's  guards  might  be  posted  nearer 
than  he  knew.  The  water,  deceptive  a^  its 
outer  edges  in  iridescent  reflection  of  warm 
clouds,  was  cold  as  glacier  drippings  in  mid- 
stream. He  swam  with  desperate  calmness, 
guarding  himself  by  every  stroke  against 
cramp.  The  bundle  oppressed  him.  lie 
would  have  cast  it  off,  but  dared  not  change 
by  a  thought  of  variation  the  routine  of  his 
struggle.  Hardy  and  experienced  woods- 
man as   he  was,  he   staggered  out  on   the 


\\ 


it 


1  ■  t 


I  I. 


i:l 


.f-r 


41 


Mi 


>■  , 


I,  ,  ^ 


200 


T/IIJ  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JO/f.V. 


other  side  and  lay  a  space  in  the  sand,  too 
exhausted  to  move. 

The  tide  began  to  rceedo,  leaving  stranded 
seaweed  in  green  or  brown  streaks,  the  color 
of  which  could  be  determined  only  by  the 
dullness  or  vividness  of  its  shine  through 
the  dusk.  As  soon  as  he  was  al)le,  the 
soldier  sat  up,  shook  out  his  blanket  and 
rolled  himself  in  it.  The  first  large  stars 
were  trembling  out.  He  lay  and  smelled 
gunpowder  mingling  with  the  saltness  of  the 
bay  and  the  evening  incense  of  the  earth. 

There  was  a  moose's  lip  in  his  wallet,  the 
last  spoil  of  his  wilderness  march,  taken 
from  game  shot  the  night  before  and  cooked 
at  his  morning  fire.  lie  ate  it,  still  lying 
in  the  sand.  Lights  began  to  appear  in  the 
direction  of  D'Aulnay's  camp,  but  the  fort 
held  itself  dark  and  close.  lie  thought  of 
the  grassy  meadow  rivulet  which  was  al- 
ways empty  at  low  tide,  and  that  it  might 
afford  him  some  shelter  in  his  nearer  ap- 
proach to  the  fort.  lie  dressed  and  put  on 
his  wea])ons,  but  left  everything  else  except 


A   StUJUr.R. 


1>01 


^S 


tlio  blanket  lying  where  he  had  Luulod.  In 
this  venture  little  could  be  carried  except 
the  rnan  and  his  life.  The  frontier  grave- 
yard outlined  itself  dimly  against  the  ex- 
panse of  landscape.  The  new-turned  clay 
therein  gave  him  a  start.  He  crept  over 
the  border  of  stones,  went  close,  and  leaned 
down  to  measure  the  length  of  the  fresh 
grave  with  his  outstretched  hands.  A  sigh 
of  relief  which  was  as  strong  as  a  sob  burst 
from  the  soldier. 

"  It  is  only  that  child  we  found  at  the 
stockade,"  he  murmured,  and  stepped  on 
among  the  older  mounds  and  leaped  the 
opposite  boundary,  to  descend  that  dip  of 
land  which  the  tide  invaded.  A\"ater  yet 
shone  there  on  the  grass.  Too  impatient  to 
wait  until  the  tide  ran  low,  he  found  the 
log,  and  moved  carefully  forward,  through 
increasing  dusk,  on  hands  and  knees  within 
closer  range  of  the  fort,  liemembering  that 
his  buckskin  might  make  an  inviting  spot 
on  the  slope,  he  wrapped  his  dark  blanket 
around  him.     The  chorus  of  inscx't  life  and 


p 


¥ 


i 

il 


i  I 


202 


THE  LADY  JF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


of  water  creatures,  which  had  scarcely  been 
tuned  for  the  season,  began  to  raise  ex- 
perimental notes.  And  now  a  splash  like 
tlie  leap  of  a  fish  came  from  the  river.  The 
moon  would  be  late  ;  he  thought  of  that 
with  satisfaction.  There  was  a  little  mist 
blown  aloft  over  the  stars,  yet  the  night  did 
not  promise  to  be  cloudy. 

The  whole  environment  of  Fort  St.  John 
was  so  familiar  to  the  young  soldier  that  he 
found  no  unusual  stone  in  his  way.  That 
side  toward  the  garden  might  be  the  side 
least  exposed  to  D'Aulnay's  forces  at  night. 
If  he  could  reach  the  southwest  bastion  un- 
seen, he  could  ask  for  a  ladder.  There  was 
every  likelihood  of  his  being  shot  before  the 
sentinels  recognized  him,  yet  he  might  be 
more  fortunate.  Balancing  these  chances, 
he  moved  toward  that  angle  of  shadow 
which  the  fortress  lifted  against  the  south- 
ern sky.  Long  rays  of  light  within  the 
walls  were  thrown  up  and  moved  on  dark- 
ness like  the  pulsing  motions  of  the  aurora. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  said  a  voice. 


' 


A   SOLDIER. 


203 


)ra. 


The  soldier  lay  flat  against  the  earth. 
lie  had  imagined  the  browsing  sound  of 
cattle  near  him.  But  a  standinii*  fii^^ure  now 
condensed  itself  from  the  general  dusk, 
some  distance  up  the  slope  betwixt  him  and 
the  bastion.  The  challenger  was  entirely 
apart  from  the  fort.  As  he  flattened  liim- 
self  in  breathless  waiting  for  a  shot  which 
might  follow,  a  clatter  began  at  his  very 
ears,  some  animal  bounded  over  him  with  a 
glancing  cut  of  its  hoof,  and  galloped  toward 
the  trench  below  St.  John's  gate.  He  lieard 
another  exclamation,  —  this  rapid  traveler 
had  jxcbably  startled  another  sentinel.  Tlie 
man  who  had  challenged  liim  laughed  softly 
in  the  darkness.  All  the  Sable  Island 
ponies  must  be  loose  upon  tlie  slope.  D' Aul- 
nay's  men  had  taken  possession  of  the 
stable  and  cattle,  and  the  wild  and  fright- 
ened ponies  were  scattered.  As  his  ear 
lay  so  near  the  ground  the  soldier  heard 
other  little  hoofs  startled  to  action,  and  a 
snort  or  two  from  suspicious  nostrils.  He 
crept     away     from     the     sentinel    without 


W' 


:    t 


m\ 


204         T]I£  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

further  challenge.  It  was  evident  that 
D'Aulnay  had  encompassed  the  fort  with 
guards. 

The  young  soldier  crept  slowly  down  the 
rocky  hillock,  avoided  another  sentinel,  and, 
after  long  caution  and  self-restraint  and 
polishing  the  earth  with  his  buckskin, 
crawled  into  the  empty  trench.  The  Sable 
Island  ponies  continually  helped  him.  They 
were  so  nervous  and  so  agile  that  the  sen- 
tinels ceased  to  watch  moving  shadows. 

The  soldier  looked  up  at  St.  John  and  its 
tower,  knowing  that  he  must  enter  in  some 
manner  before  the  moon  rose,  lie  dreaded 
the  red  brightness  of  moon  -  dawn,  when 
guards  whom  he  could  discern  against  the 
stony  ascent  might  detect  his  forehead 
above  the  breastwork.  Behind  him  stretclied 
an  alluvial  flat  to  the  river's  sands.  The 
tide  was  running  swiftly  out,  and  under 
starlight  its  swirls  and  long  muscular  sweeps 
could  be  followed  by  a  practiced  eye. 

As  the  soldier  glanced  warily  in  every 
direction,  two  lights  left  D'Aulnay's  camp 


A  SOLDIER.  205 

aiitl  approached  hiin,  jerking  and  flaring  in 
tlie  hands  of  men  who  wore  evidently  walk- 
ing over  irregular  ground.     They  might  be 
coming   directly  to   take  possession   of   the 
trench.      But    why    should    they   proclaim 
their  intention  with  torches  to  the  batteries 
of  Fort  St.  John?     He  looked  around  for 
some  refuge  from  the   advancing  circle   of 
smoky  shine,  and    moved  backwards   alonir 
the    bottom    of     the     trend).       The     lio-ht 
stretched  over  and  bridged  him,  leaving  him 
in  a  stream  of   deep  shadow,  protected  by 
the    breastwork  from   sentinels  above.     lie 
could   therefore  lift    a  cautious  eye    at  the 
back  of  the  trench,  and  scan  the  group  now 
moving  betwixt  him  and  the  river.     There 
were  seven  persons,  only  one  of  whom  strode 
the  stones  with  rceldess  feet.     This    man's 
hands  were  tied  behind  his  back,  and  a  rope 
was  noosed  around  his  neck  and  held  at  the 
other  end  bv  a  soldier. 

'•It  is  Khissman,  our  Swiss!"  flashed 
through  the  sohller  in  the  trench,  with  a 
mighty  tlirob   of  rage  and  shame,  and  anx- 


\H\ 


Wf 


•i ' 


' 


206 


THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


P 


I 
m 


Pi' 

4 


II' 

m 

m 

w 

"ill 


iety  for  the  lady  in  the  fort.  If  Klussman 
had  been  taken  prisoner,  the  guns  of  St. 
John  would  surely  speak  in  his  behalf  when 
he  was  about  to  be  hanged  before  its  very 
gate.  Such  a  parade  of  the  act  must  be 
discovered  on  the  walls.  It  was  plain  that 
Klussman  had  deserted  to  D'Aulnay,  and 
was  now  enjoying  D'Aulnay's  gratitude. 

*'  The  tree  that  doth  best  front  the  gates," 
said  one  of  the  men,  pointing  with  his  torch 
to  an  elm  in  the  alluvial  soil :  "  my  lord 
said  the  tree  that  doth  best  front  the  gates.'* 

"  That  hath  no  fit  limbs,"  objected  an- 
other. 

"  He  said  the  tree  that  doth  best  front 
the  gates,"  insisted  the  first  man.  "  Be- 
sides this  one,  what  shrub  hereabouts  is  tall 
enough  for  our  use  ?  " 

They  moved  down  towards  the  elm.  A 
stool  carried  by  one  man  showed  its  long 
legs  grotesquely  behind  his  back.  There 
were  six  persons  besides  the  prisoner,  all 
soldiers  except  one,  who  wore  the  coarse, 
long,  cord-girdled  gown  of  a  Capuchin.    His 


A  SOLDIER.  207 

hood  was  drawn  over  his  face,  and  the 
torches  imperfectly  showed  that  he  was  of 
the  bare-footed  order  and  wore  only  sandals. 
He  held  up  a  crucifix  and  walked  close  be- 
side Klussiuan.  But  the  Swiss  gazed  all 
around  the  dark  world  which  he  was  so  soon 
to  leave,  and  up  at  the  fortress  he  had  at- 
tempted to  betray,  and  never  once  at  the 
murmuring  friar. 

The  soldier  in  the  trench  heard  a  breath- 
ing near  him,  and  saw  that  a  number  of  the 
ponies,  drawn  by  the  light,  had  left  their 
fitful  grazing  and  were  venturing  step  by 
step  beyond  the  end  of  the  trench.  Some 
association  of  this  scene  with  soldiers  who 
used  to  feed  them  at  night,  after  a  hard 
day  of  drawing  home  the  winter  logs,  may 
have  stirred  behind  their  shaggy  foreheads. 
He  took  his  hunting-knife  with  sudden  and 
desperate  intention,  threw  off  his  moccasins, 
cut  his  leggins  short  at  the  middle  of  the 
leg,  and  silently  divided  his  blanket  into 
strii)s. 

Preparations   were   going  forward  under 


r 


111 


r^i 


l» 


fi: 


■i 


ll 

\ 

1 

lk 

1 

ii 

1 

J 
1 

208        THE   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

tlie  elm.  One  of  tlie  soldiers  climbed  the 
tree  and  crept  out  upon  an  arched  limb, 
catching  the  rope  end  thrown  up  to  him. 
Both  torches  were  given  to  one  man,  that 
all  the  others  might  set  themselves  to  the 
task.  Klussman  stood  upon  the  stool,  which 
they  had  brought  for  the  purpose  from  the 
cook's  galley  in  one  of  their  ships.  His 
blond  face,  across  which  all  his  thoughts 
used  to  parade,  was  cast  up  by  the  torches 
like  a  stiffened  mask,  hopeless  yet  fearless 
in  its  expression. 

"  Come,  Father  Vincent,"'  said  the  man 
who  had  made  the  knot,  sliding  down  the 
tree.  "  This  is  a  Huguenot  fellow,  and  good 
words  are  lost  on  him.  I  wonder  that  my 
lord  let  him  have  a  friar  to  comfort  him." 

"lletire.  Father  Vincent,"  said  the  men 
around  the  stool,  with  more  roughness  than 
they  would  have  shown  to  a  favorite  con- 
fessor of  D'Aulnay's.  The  Capuchin  turned 
and  walked  towai'd  the  troncli. 

The  soldier  in  the  trench  could  not  hoar 
what   they  said,  but  lie   had   time  for   no 


A   SOLDIER. 


209 


fiiitlior  thought  of  Khissinau.    lie  liad  been 
watching  the  ironies  with  the  eonvietion  that 
his   own  life   hung  on  wliat  lie  iniglit  drive 
them   to   do.     They    alternately  snuffed    at 
Klussman's   presenee    and   put   their   noses 
down    to  feel  for  springing   grass.     Before 
they  could  start  and   wheel  from  the  friar, 
the  soldier  had    thrown    his    hunting-knife. 
It  struck   the   hind  leg  of  the  nearest  pony 
and  a   scampering  and   snorting   hurricane 
swept  down  past  the  elm.     Klussman's  stool 
and   the  torch-hearer  were  rolled    too-ether. 
Both  lights  were  stamped  out  by  the  panic- 
struck  men,  who  thought  a  sally  liad  been 
made  from   the  fort.     Father  Vincent  saw 
the  knife   thrown,  and  tiu-ned  back,  but  the 
man  in   the   trencli   seized    liim  witli    steel 
muscles  and  dragged  him  into    its    Iiollow. 
If  the  good  father  uttered  cry  against  such 
violence,  there  was  also  noise  under  the  elm, 
and   the  wounded  pony   yet   gallojied   and 
snorted  toward  the   river.     The  young  sol- 
dier fastened  his  moutli  shut  with  a  piece  of 
blanket,  stripped  off  his  capote  and  sandals 


!     ' 


m 


1     i- 


210        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

and  tied  liiin  so  that  lie  could  not  move. 
Having  done  all  most  securely  and  put  the 
capote  and  sandals  upon  himself,  the  soldier 
whispered  at  the  friar's  ear  an  apology 
which  must  have  amused  them  both,  — 

"  Pardon    my    roughness,     good    father. 
Perhaps  you  will  lend  me  your  clothes  ?  " 


XVI. 


THE   CAMP. 


D'Aulnay's  sentinels  about  the  walls, 
understanding  that  all  this  confusion  was 
made  by  a  stampede  of  ponies,  kept  the 
silence  which  had  been  enjoined  on  them. 
But  some  stir  of  inquiry  seemed  to  occur  in 
the  bastions.  Father  Vincent,  lying  help- 
less in  the  trench,  and  feeling  the  chill  of 
lately  opened  earth  through  his  shaven  head 
and  partly  nude  body,  wondered  if  he  also 
had  met  D'Aulnay's  gratitude  for  his  recent 
inquiry  into  D'Aulnay's  fitness  to  receive 
the  sacraments. 

"  But  I  will  tell  my  lord  of  Charnisay  the 
truth  about  his  sins,"  thought  Father  Vin- 
cent, unable  to  form  any  words  with  a  pin- 
ioned mouth,  "  though  he  should  go  the 
length  of  procuring  my  death." 


W 


u  i 


>;ri 


III 


212 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  .ST.  JOHN. 


m 


ii 


I 

IS',  I 


The  soldier  with  his  buckskin  covered  by 
Father  Vincent's  capote  stejiped  out  into 
the  starlight  and  turned  his  cowled  lace 
toward  the  fort.  lie  intended  to  tell  the 
sentinels  that  D'Aulnay  had  sent  him  with 
a  message  to  the  commandant  of  St.  John. 
The  guards,  discerning  his  capote,  would 
perhaps  obey  a  beckoning  finger,  and  be- 
lieve that  he  had  been  charged  with  silence ; 
for  not  having  heard  the  churchman's  voice 
he  dared  not  try  to  imitate  it,  and  must 
whisper.  But  that  unforeseen  element  which 
the  wisest  cannot  rule  out  of  their  fate 
halted  him  before  he  took  a  dozen  steps  up 
the  hill. 

"Where  is  Father  Vincent  de  Paris?" 
called  some  impatient  person  below  the 
trench.  Five  figures  coming  from  the  tree 
gained  disiinctness  as  they  advanced,  but 
it  was  a  new-comer  who  demanded  again,  — 

"  Where  is  Father  Vincent  de  Paris  ? 
Did  he  not  leave  the  camp  with  you?  " 

The  soldier  went  down  dii-ectly  where  his 
gray  capote   might  speak  for  itself   to  the 


TUK  CAJir. 


2V6 


eye,  and  the  miin  who  carried  the  stool 
jmintiMl  with  it  toward  the  evich'iit  friar. 

'•There  stands  tlie  friar  behind  theo.  lie 
hath  been  tumbled  into  tlio  treneh,  I  think." 

"  Is  your  affair  done  ?  '' 

"  And  well  done,  except  that  some  cattle 
ran  mad  among  us  but  now,  and  we  thought 
a  sally  had  been  made,  so  we  put  out  our 
torches." 

"  With  your  stupid  din,"  said  the  mes- 
senger from  camp,  "you  will  wake  up  the 
guns  of  the  fort  at  the  very  moment  when 
Sieur  D'Auliiay  would  send  his  truce  bearer 


in 


»^ 


"  I  thank  the  saints  I  am  not  like  to  be 
used  for  his  agent,"  said  the  man  who  had 
been  upset  with  the  torches,  "  if  the  walls 
arc  to  be  stormed  as  they  were  this  morn- 
mg. ' 

"  He  wants  Father  Vincent  de  Paris," 
said  the  under  officer  from  camj).  "  Good 
father,  you  took  moio  license  in  coming 
hither  than  my  lord  intended." 

The  soldier  made  some   mui-mured  noise 


m 


i 


m 


i' 


Ji... ! 


J      • 


ill   ' 


ifii 


j 


214      Tf/r:  lady  of  fort  sr.  JOfiy. 

undor  his  cowl.  lie  wiilked  l)esi(lo  the  oflfi- 
cor  and  Ijcard  ono  luaii  say  to  another  bc- 
liind  liliii,  — 

"  Tlieso  lioly  folks  have  more  conrago 
than  nien-at-arnis.  My  lord  was  minded  to 
throw  this  one  out  of  the  ship  when  he 
sailed  from  l^ort  Royal." 

"The  Sienr  D'Aulnay  hath  too  much  re- 
spect to  his  religion  to  do  that,"  answered 
the  other. 

"  You  had  best  move  in  silence,"  said  the 
officer,  turning  his  head  toward  them,  and 
no  further  words  broki;  the  march  into 
camp.  D'Aulnay's  cam})  was  well  above 
the  reach  of  high  tide,  yet  so  near  the  river 
that  soft  and  regular  splashings  seemed  en- 
croaching on  the  tents.  The  soldier  noticed 
the  batteries  on  their  height,  and  counted 
as  ably  as  he  could  for  the  cowl  and  night 
dimness  the  number  of  tents  holdinj;  this 
little  army.  Far  beyond  them  the  palpita- 
ting waters  showed  changeful  surfaces  on 
Fundy  Bay. 

The  capote  was  long  for  him.     He  kept 


■  i .' 


Tin:  CA.yfi'.  215 

Ills  hands  within  the  hIccvos.  Before  the 
guard-lino  was  passed  ho  saw  in  tlic  niichllo 
of  tho  camp  an  open  tent.  A  lon^j  torcli 
stood  in  front  of  it  with  tho  point  stuck 
in  the  ground.  The  iloating  yellow  blazo 
showed  tho  tent's  interior,  its  simple  fittings 
for  rest,  tho  magnificent  arms  and  garments 
of  its  occupant,  and  first  of  all,  D'Aulnay 
do  Churnisay  himself,  sitting  with  a  rudo 
camp  table  in  front  of  him.  He  was  half 
muffled  in  a  furred  cloak  from  the  balm  of 
that  Easter  night.  Papers  and  an  ink-horn 
were  on  tho  table,  and  two  officers  stood  by, 
receiving  orders. 

This  governor  of  Acadia  had  a  triangular 
face  with  square  temples  and  pointed  beard, 
its  crisp  fleece  also  concealing  his  mouth 
except  the  thin  edges  of  his  lips.  It  was  a 
handsome  nervous  face  of  black  tones ;  one 
that  kept  counsel,  and  w^as  not  without  hu- 
mor. He  noticed  his  subordinate  ai)proach- 
ing  with  tho  friar.  The  men  sent  to  execute 
Klussman  were  dispersed  to  their  tents. 

"  The  Swiss  hath  suffered  his  punish- 
ment ?  "  he  inquired. 


i 


i 


4 


K    .     .. 


I]  ,■> ) : 


m 


21G        77//;  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

"  Yes,  my  lord  D'Aulnay.  I  met  the  sol- 
diers returning." 

*'  Did  he  say  anything  further  concerning 
the  state  of  the  fort  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,  my  lord.  But  I  will  call 
the  men  to  be  questioned." 

"  Let  it  be.  He  hath  probably  not  lied 
in  what  he  told  me  to-day  of  its  weak  gar- 
rison. But  help  is  expected  soon  with  La 
Tour.  Perhaps  he  told  more  to  the  friar  in 
their  last  conference." 

"  Heretics  do  not  confess,  my  lord." 

"  True  enough  ;  but  these  churchmen  have 
inquisitive  minds  which  go  into  men's  af- 
fairs without  confession,"  said  the  governor 
of  Acadia  with  a  smile  which  lengthened 
slightly  the  thread-lines  of  his  lips.  D'Aul- 
nay  de  Charnisay  had  an  eye  with  a  keen 
blue  iris,  sorting  not  at  all  with  the  pig- 
ments of  his  face.  As  he  cast  it  on  the  re- 
turned friar  his  mere  review  deepened  to  a 
scrutiny  used  to  detecting  concealments. 

"  Hath  this  Capuchin  shrunk  ?  "  exclaimed 
D'Aulnay.     "  He  is  not  as  tall  as  he  was." 


V 


THE   CAMP. 


217 


lied 


»j 


All  present  looked  with  quickened  atten- 
tion  at  the  soldier,  who  expected  them  to 
pull  off  his  cowl  and  expose  a  head  of 
tlirifty  clusters  which  had  never  known  the 
tonsure.  His  beaver  cap  lay  in  the  trench 
with  the  real  Father  Vincent. 

He  folded  his  arms  on  his  breast  with  a 
gesture   of  patience   which   had   its   effect. 
D'Aulnay's  followers  knew  the  warfare  be- 
tween their  seignior  and  Father  Vincent  de 
Paris,  the  only  churchman  in  Acadia  who 
insisted  on  bringing  him  to  account;  and 
who  had  found  means  to  supplant  a  favorite 
priest  on  this  expedition,  for  the  purpose 
of  watching  him.     D'Aulnay  bore  it  with 
assumed  good-humor.     He  had  his  religious 
scruples  as  well  as  his  revenges  and  ambi- 
tions.     But  there  were  ways  in  which  an 
intruding  churchman  could  be  martyred  by 
irony  and  covert  abuse,  and  by  discomfort 
chargeable    to   the    circumstances   of    war. 
Father  Vincent  de  Paris,  on  his  part,  bore 
such    martyrdom    silently,   but    stinted   no 
word  of  needed  re])uke.     A  woman's  mourn- 


b! 


I  ): 


■      *l 


218        Tilt:  LADY  OF  FORT  .ST.  JOHN. 

ing  ill  the  dusky  tent  next  to  D'Aulnay's 
now  rose  to  sucli  wildness  of  piteous  cries 
as  to  divert  even  him  from  the  shrinkage  of 
Father  Vincent's  height.  No  other  voice 
could  be  lieard,  comforting  her.  She  was 
alone  with  sorrow  in  the  midst  of  an  army 
of  fray-hardened  men.  A  look  of  embar- 
rassment passed  over  De  Charnisay's  face, 
and  he  said  to  the  officer  nearest  him,  — 

"  Remove  that  woman  to  another  part  of 
the  camp." 

"  The  Swiss's  wife,  my  lord  ?  " 

"The  Swiss's  widow,  to  speak  exactly." 
lie  turned  again  with  a  frowning  smile  to 
the  silent  Capuchin.  "  By  the  proofs  she 
gives,  my  kindness  hath  not  been  so  great 
to  that  woman  that  the  church  need  upbraid 


5> 


me. 

Marguerite  came  out  of  the  tent  at  a 
peremptory  word  given  by  the  officer  at  its 
opening.  She  did  not  look  toward  D'Aul- 
nay  de  Charnisay,  the  power  who  had  made 
her  his  foolish  agent  to  the  destruction  of 
the  man  who  loved  her.    Muffling  her  heart- 


Tin:  CAMP,  219 

broken  cries  she  followed  the  subaltern 
away  into  darkness  —  she  who  had  meant 
at  all  costs  to  be  mistress  of  Penobscot. 
M'hen  distance  somewhat  relieved  their  ears, 
D'Aulnay  took  up  a  pa])er  lying  before  him 
on  the  table  and  spoke  in  some  haste  to  the 
friar. 

"  You  will  go  with  escort  to  the  walls  of 
the  fort,  Father  Vincent,  and  demand  to 
speak  with  Madame  La  Tour.  She  hath,  it 
appears,  little  aversion  to  being-  seen  on  the 
walls.     Give  into  her  hand  this  paper."   ^ 

The  soldier  under  the  cowl,  dreading  that 
his  unbroken  silence  might  be  noted  against 
him,  made  some  muttering  remonstrance,  at 
which  D'Aulnay  laughed  while  tying  the 
packet. 

"  When  churchmen  go  to  war,  Father 
Vincent,  they  must  expect  to  share  its  risks, 
at  least  in  offices  of  mediation.  Look  you  : 
they  tell  me  the  Jesuits  and  missionaries  of 
Quebec  and  Montreal  are  ever  before  the 
soldier  in  the  march  upon  this  New  World. 
But   Capuchins  are    a    lazy,    selfish  order. 


!! 


'.r 


if 


-i:\ 


I 


It; 


T 


220        T/JE   LADY   OF   FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

They  would  lie  at  their  ease  in  a  monastery, 
exerting  themselves  only  to  spy  upon  their 
neighbors." 

He  held  out  the  packet.  The  soldier  in 
the  capote  had  to  step  forward  to  receive  it, 
and  D'Aulnay's  eye  fell  upon  the  sandal 
advanced  near  the  torch. 

"  Come,  this  is  not  our  Capuchin,"  he  ex- 
claimed grimly.  "  This  man  hath  a  foot 
whiter  than  my  own  !  " 

The  feeling  that  he  was  detected  gave  the 
soldier  desperate  boldness  and  scorn  of  all 
further  caution.  He  stood  erect  and  lifted 
his  face.  Though  the  folds  of  the  cowl  fell 
around  it,  the  governor  caught  his  contemp- 
tuous eye. 

"  Wash  thy  heart  as  I  have  washed  my 
feet,  and  it  also  will  be  white,  D'Aulnay  de 
Charnisay!  " 

"  There  spoke  the  Capuchin,"  said  D'Aul- 
nay with  a  nod.  His  close  face  allowed  it- 
self some  pleasure  in  baiting  a  friar,  and  if 
he  had  suspected  Father  Vincent  of  changed 
identity,  his  own  men  were  not  sure  of  his 
suspicion  the  next  instant. 


Tin:  CAMP.  221 

"Our  friar  hath  washed  his  feet,"  he 
observed  insolently,  pointing  out  the  evi- 
dent fact.  "  Such  penance  and  ablution  he 
hath  never  before  put  upon  himself  since  he 
came  to  Acadia !  I  will  set  it  down  in  my 
dispatches  to  the  king,  for  his  majesty  will 
take  pleasure  in  such  news:  —  'Father 
Vincent  de  Paris,  on  this  blessed  Paques  day 
of  the  year  1645,  hath  washed  his  feet.'  " 

The  men  laughed  in  a  half  ashamed  way 
which  apologized  to  the  holy  man  while  it 
deferred  to  the  master,  and  D'Aulnay  dis- 
missed his  envoy  with  seriousness.     The  two 
officers  who  had  taken  his  orders  lighted  an- 
other torch  at  the  blaze  in  front  of  the  tent, 
and  led  away  the  willing  friar.     D'Aulnay 
watched  them  down  the  avenue  of  lodges, 
and    when    their    figures   entered   blurred 
space,  watched  the  moving  star  which  in- 
dicated their  progress.     The  officer  who  had 
brought  Father  Vincent  to  this  conference, 
also  stood  musing  after   them  with   unlaid 
suspicion. 

"  Close  my  tent,"  said  D'Aulnay,  rising, 
"and  set  the  table  within." 


ft  I 


i 


!  •■  ' 


m 


Mi 


li 


11 


ii 


222 


Tllf:  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


"  My  lord/'  spoke  out  the  subordinate, 
"I  did  not  tell  you  tlie  men  were  thrown 
into  confusion  around  the  Swiss." 

"  Well,  monsieur  ?  '■  responded  D'Aulnay 
curtly,  with  an  attentive  eye. 

"  There  was  a  stampede  of  the  cattle 
loosened  from  the  stable.  Father  Vincent 
fell  into  the  empty  trench.  They  doubtless 
iost  sight  of  him  until  he  came  out  again." 

"  Therefore,  monsieur  ?  " 

*'il  roemed  tome  as  your  lordship  said, 
that  this  man  scarce  had  the  bearing  of  a 
friar,  until,  indeed,  he  spoke  out  in  denun- 
ciation, and  then  his  voice  sounded  a  deeper 
tone  than  I  ever  heard  in  it  before." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  di- 
rectly?" 

*'  My  lord,  I  had  not  thought  it  until  he 
showed  such  readiness  to  move  toward  yon 
fort." 

"  Did  you  examine  the  trench  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord.  I  hurried  the  friar  liither 
at  your  command." 

"  It  was  the  part  of  a  prudent  soldier," 


>> 


)5 


THE  CAMP.  223 

sneered  his  master,  "  to  leave  a  dark  trench 
possibly  full  of  La  Tour's  recruits,  and  trot 
a  friar  into  camp." 

"But  the  sentinels  are  there,  monsieur, 
and  they  gave  no  alarm." 

"  The  sentinels  are  like  you.  They  will 
think  of  giving  an  alarm  to-morrow  sun- 
rise, when  the  fort  is  strengthened  by  a  new 
garrison.  Take  a  company  of  men,  sur- 
round that  trench,  double  the  guards,  send 
me  back  that  friar,  and  do  all  with  such 
haste  as  I  have  never  seen  thee  show  in  my 
service  yet." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

While  tlie  officer  ran  among  the  tents, 
D'Aulnay  walked  back  and  forth  outside, 
nervously  impatient  to  have  his  men  gone. 
He  whispered  with  a  laugh  in  his  beard, 
"Charles  do  Menou,  D'Aulnay  de  Char- 
nisay,  are  you  to  be  twice  beaten  by  a 
woman  ?  If  La  Tour  hath  come  back  with 
help  and  entered  the  fort,  the  siege  may  as 
well  be  raised  to-morrow." 

The  cowled   soldier   taxed   his   escort   in 


i 


224 


THE   LADY   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


the  speed  lie  made  across  that  dark  country 
separating  camp  and  fortress. 

"  Go  softly,  good  father,"  remonstrated 
one  of  the  officers,  stumbling  among  stones. 
"  The  Sieur  D'Aulnay  meant  not  that  we 
should  break  our  necks  at  this  business." 

But  he  led  them  with  no  abatement  and 
a  stern  and  offended  mien  ;  wondering  se- 
cretly if  the  real  Father  Vincent  would  by 
this  time  be  able  to  make  some  noise  in  the 
trench.  Unaccountable  night  sounds  startled 
the  ear.  He  turned  to  the  fortress  ascent 
while  the  trench  yet  lay  distant. 

"  There  is  an  easier  way,  father,"  urged 
one  of  the  men,  obliged,  however,  to  follow 
him  and  bend  to  the  task  of  climbing.  The 
discomfort  of  treading  stony  soil  in  sandals, 
and  the  sensibility  of  his  uncovered  shins 
to  even  that  soft  night  air,  made  him  smile 
under  the  cowl.  A  sentinel  challenged  them 
and  was  answered  by  his  companions.  Pass- 
ing on,  they  reached  the  wall  near  the  gate. 
Here  the  hill  sloped  less  abruptly  than  at 
the  towered  corner.     The  rocky  foundation 


] 


ri1; 


mf 


TlIK   CAMP.  225 

of  Fort  St.  John  made  u  moat  impossible. 
Guards  on  the  wall  now  challenged  them, 
and  the  muzzles  of  three  guns  looked  down, 
distinct  eyes  in  the  lifted  torchlight,  but  at 
the  sign  of  truce  these  were  withdrawn. 

"  The  Sieur  D'A  ulnay  de  Charnisay  sends 
this  friar  with  dispatches  to  the  lady  of  the 
fort,"  said  one  of  the  officers.  "Call  your 
lady  to  receive  them  into  her  own  hand. 
These  are  our  orders." 

"  And  put  down  a  ladder,"  said  the  other 
officer,  "  that  he  may  ascend  with  them." 

*'  We  put  down  no  ladders,"  answered  the 
man  leaning  over  the  wall.  "  We  will  call 
our  lady,  but  you  must  yourselves  find  an 
arm  long  enough  to  lift  your  dispatches  to 
her." 

During  this  parley,  the  rush  of  men  com- 
ing from  the  camp  began  to  be  heard.  The 
guards  on  the  wall  listened,  and  two  of  them 
promptly  trained  the  cannon  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

*'  You  have  come  to  surprise  us  again," 
taunted  the  tliird  guard,  leaning  over  the 
wall ;  "  but  the  Swiss  is  not  here  now  !  " 


:  t'l 


i  A 


226 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


■9%r. 


f 


m- 


The  soldier  saw  his  escape  was  cut  off, 
and  desi)ei'ately  casting  back  his  monk's 
hood,  he  shouted  upwards,  — 

"  La  Tour  !  La  Tour  !  Put  down  the 
ladder  —  it  is  Edelwald  !  " 


!l    1 


XVII. 


AN  ACADIAN   PASSOVER. 


At  that  name,  clown  came  a  ladder  as  if 
shot  from  a  catapult.  Edohvald  sprung  up 
the  rounds  and  both  of  D'Aulnay's  officers 
seized  him.  He  had  drawn  one  of  his  long 
pistols  and  he  clubbed  it  on  their  heads  so 
that  they  staggered  back.  The  sentinels 
and  advancing  men  fired  on  him,  but  by 
some  muscular  flash  he  was  flat  upon  the 
top  of  the  wall,  and  the  cannon  sprung  with 
a  roar  at  his  enemies.  They  were  directly 
in  its  track,  and  they  took  to  the  trench. 
Edelwald,  dragging  the  ladder  up  after 
him,  laughed  at  the  state  in  which  they 
must  find  Father  Vincent.  The  entire  gar- 
rison rushed  to  the  walls,  and  D'Aulnay's 
camp  stirred  with  the  rolling  of  drums. 
Then   there  was   a  pause,  and   each   party 


■.{  I 


f 


H 


\L. 


W 


p.! 


11 


1^ ' 


I 

II 

pi' 

..'■•' 


228      r/z/v  /..i/)r  0/'  ronr  sr.  jo/lv. 

wiiited  fiu'ther  aggiession  from  the  other. 
The  fort's  gun  hsid  spoken  hut  onee.  Per- 
liai)S  some  intelligenee  passed  from  tren' ' 
to  camp.  Presently  the  unsuecessful  coiu- 
pany  ventured  from  their  hreastwork  and 
moved  away,  and  both  sides  again  had  rest 
for  the  niglit. 

Madame  La  Tour  stood  in  the  fort,  watch- 
ing the  action  of  her  garrison  outlined 
against  the  sky.  She  could  no  longer  as- 
cend the  wall  by  her  private  stairs.  Cannon 
shot  had  torn  down  her  chimney  and  pilr 
its  rock  in  a  barricade  against  the  dooi. 
Sentinels  were  changed,  and  the  relieved  sol- 
diers descended  from  the  wall  and  returned 
to  that  great  room  of  the  tower  which  had 
been  turned  into  a  common  camp.  It 
seemed  under  strange  enchantment.  There 
was  a  hole  beside  the  portrait  of  Claude  La 
Tour,  and  through  its  tunnel  starlight  could 
be  seen  and  the  night  air  breathed  in.  The 
carved  buffet  was  shattered.  The  usual 
log,  however,  burned  in  cheer,  and  families 
had  reunited  in  distinct  nests.     A  pavilion 


m 


^A"  ACADIAN  rASSOrj'.Ii. 


er- 


of  tapestry  was  set  up  for  Lady  Doriiula 
and  all  lior  treasures,  near  the  stairs:  the 
southern  window  of  her  chamber  had  been 
made  a  target. 

Le  Rossignol  sat  on  a  table,  with  the  four 
expeetant  children  still  dancing  in  front  of 
her.      Was   it   not   IViques  evening?     The 
alarm  being  over  she  again  began  her  mer- 
riest  tunes.     Irregular   life   in   a   besieged 
fortress  had  its  fascination  for  the  children. 
No  bedtime  laws   coind  be  enforced  where 
the  entire  household  stirred.     But  to  Shu- 
benacadie  such  turmoil  was  scandalous,    lie 
also  lived  in  the  /lall  during  the  day,  and  as 
late  at  night  as  his  mistress  chose,  but  he 
lived  a  retired  life,  squatted   in   a  corner, 
hissing  at  all  who  passed  near  him.     Per- 
haps he  pined  for  water  whereon  to  spread 
his  wings  and  sail.     Sometimes  he  quavered 
a  plaintive  remark  on  society  as  he  found  it, 
and  sometimes  he  stretched  up  his  neck  to 
its  longest  length,  a  sinuous  white  serpent, 
and  gazed  wrathfully  at  the  i)ancled  ceiling. 
The  firelight  revealed  him  at  this  moment  a 


230 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  HT.  JOHN. 


f'i 


r  : 


':m  ' 


bundle  of  glistening  satin,  wrapped  in  sleep 
and  his  wings  from  the  alarms  of  war. 

Marie  stood  at  the  hearth  to  receive 
Edelwald.  lie  came  striding  from  among 
her  soldiers,  his  head  showing  like  a  Ro- 
man's above  the  cowl.  It  was  dark-eyed, 
vshapely  of  feature,  and  with  a  mouth  and 
inward  curve  above  the  chin  so  beautiful 
that  their  chiseled  strength  was  always  a 
surprise.  As  he  faced  the  lady  of  the  for- 
tress he  stood  no  taP' "  than  she  did,  but  his 
contour  was  muscular. 

After  dropping  on  his  knee  to  kiss  her 
hand,  he  stood  up  to  bear  the  search  of  her 
eyes.  They  swept  down  his  friar's  dress 
and  found  it  not  so  strange  that  it  should 
supplant  her  immediate  inquiry,  — 

"  Your  news  ?     My  lord  is  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  Is  he  without  ?  '' 

"  My  lady,  he  is  at  the  outpost  at  the 
head  of  Fundy  Bay." 

Her  face  whitened  terribly.  She  knew 
what   this   meant.     La  Tour  could  get   no 


m 

■  til 


AN  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


231 


helj).  Nicholas  Denys  denied  Lim  men. 
There  was  no  hope  of  rescue  for  Fort  St. 
John.  He  was  w^aiting  in  the  outpost  for 
his  ship  to  bring  him  home  -—  the  home  be- 
sieged by  D'Aulnay.  The  blood  returned 
to  her  face  with  a  rush,  her  mouth  quivered, 
and  she  sobbed  two  or  three  times  without 
tears.  La  Tour  could  have  taken  her  in 
his  arms.  But  Edelwald  folded  his  empty 
arms  across  his  breast. 

"  My  lady,  I  would  rather  be  shot  than 
bring  you  this  message." 

"Klussman  betrayed  us,  Edelwald!  and 
I  know  I  hurt  men,  hurt  them  with  ray  own 
hands,  striking  and  shooting  on  the  wall !  " 

She  threw  herself  against  the  settle  and 
shook  with  weeping.     It  was  the  revolt  of 
'womanhood.     The   soldier   hung  his   head. 
It  relieved  him  to  declare  savagely,  — 

"Klussman  hath  his  pay.  D'Aulnay's 
followers  have  just  hanged  him  beh)w  the 
fort." 

"  Hanged  him  !  Ilangod  poor  Klussman  ? 
Edelwald,  I  cannot  have  Klussman  — 
hanged !  " 


t 


1^1 1 


p 


lit 


i^ 


232        TlfE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

Le  Rossignol  had  stopped  her  mandolin, 
and  the  children  clustered  near  Edelwald 
waiting  for  his  notice.  One  of  them  now 
ran  with  the  news  to  her. 

"  Klussman  is  hanged,"  she  relocated, 
changing  her  position  on  the  table  and 
laying  the  mandolin  down.  "  Faith,  we  are 
never  satisfied  with  our  good.  I  am  in  a 
rage  now  because  they  hanged  not  the 
woman  in  his  stead." 

Marie  wiped  off  her  tears.  The  black 
rings  of  sleeplessness  around  her  eyes  em- 
phasized her  loss  of  color,  but  she  was  beau- 
tiful. 

"How  foolish  doth  weailness  make  a 
woman!  I  expected  no  help  from  Dcnys 
—  yet  rested  my  last  hope  on  it.  You  must 
eat,  Edelwald.  By  your  dress  and  the 
alarm  raised  you  have  come  into  the  fort 
through  danger  and  effort." 

*'  My  lady,  if  you  will  permit  me  first  to 
go  to  my  room,  I  will  find  something  which 
sorts  better  with  a  soldier  than  this  church- 
man's gown.  My  buckskin  T  was  obliged 
to  mutilate  to  make  me  a  proper  friar." 


li 


I 


JX  ACAD r AX  PASSOVER. 


233 


"Go,  assuredly.  But  I  know  not  wliat 
rubbish  the  cannon  of  D'Auhiay  have  bat- 
tered down  in  your  room.  The  monk's 
frock  will  scarce  feel  lonesome  in  that  part 
of  our  tower  now :  we  have  had  two  Jesuits 
to  lodge  there  since  you  left." 

"Did  they  carry  away  Madame  Bronck? 
I  do  not  see  her  among  your  women." 

"She  is  fortunate,  Edelwald.  A  man 
loved  her,  and  traveled  hither  from  the 
Orange  settlement.  They  were  wed  five 
days  ago,  and  set  out  with  the  Jesuits  to 
Montreal." 

Marie  did  not  lift  her  heavy  eyelids  while 
she^spoke,  and  anguish  passed  unseen  across 
Edelwald 's  face.  Whoever  was  loved  and 
fortunate,  he  stood  outside  of  such  experi- 
ence. He  was  young,  bt^t  there  was  to  be 
no  wooing  for  him  in  the  world,  however 
long  war  might  spare  him.  The  women  of 
the  fort  waited  with  their  children  for  his 
notice.  His  stirring  to  turn  toward  tLiem 
rustled  a  paper  under  his  capote. 

"  My  lady,"  he  said  pausing,  "  D'Aulnay 


;h 


;^i 


234 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


had  me  in  his  camp  and  gave  me  dispatches 
to  you." 

"  You  were  there  in  this  friar's  dress  ?  " 

Marie  looked  sincerely  the  pride  she  took 
in  his  simple  courage. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,  though  much  against  my 
will.  I  was  obliged  to  knock  down  a  rev- 
erend shaveling  and  strip  him.  But  the 
gown  hath  served  fairly  for  the  trouble." 

"  Hath  D'Aulnay  many  men  ?  " 

"  lie  is  well  equipped." 

Edelwald  took  the  packet  from  his  belt 
and  gave  it  to  her.  Marie  broke  the  thread 
and  sat  down  on  the  settle,  spreading  D'Aul- 
nay's  paper  to  the  fireliglit.  She  read  it  in 
silence,  and  handed  it  to  Edelwald.  He 
leaned  toward  the  fire  and  read  it  also. 

D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  demanded  the 
surrender  of  Fort  St.  John  with  all  its 
stores,  ammunition,  moneys  and  plate,  and 
its  present  small  garrison.  When  Edelwald 
looked  up,  Marie  extended  her  hand  for  the 
dispatch  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

"  Let  that  be  his  answer,"  said  Edelwald. 


'  » 


AN  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


235 


"  If  we  surrender,"  spoke  the  lady  of  the 
fort,  *'  we  will  make  our  own  terms." 

"  My  lady,  you  will  not  surrender." 

As  she  looked  at  Edelwald,  the  comfort 
of  having  him  there  softened  the  resolute 
lines  of  her  face  into  childlike  curves.  Be- 
ing about  the  same  age  she  felt  always  a 
youthful  comradeship  with  him.  Her  eyes 
again  filled. 

*'  Edelwald,  we  have  lost  ten  men." 

*'D'Aulnay  has  doubtless  lost  ten  or 
twenty  times  as  many." 

"  What  are  men  to  him  ?  Cattle,  which 
he  can  buy.  But  to  us  they  are  priceless. 
To  say  nothing  of  your  rank,  Edelwald,  you 
alone  are  worth  more  than  all  the  armies 
D'Aulnay  can  muster." 

He  sheltered  his  face  with  one  Land  as  if 
the  fire  scorched  him. 

"  My  lady,  Sieur  Charles  would  have  us 
hold  this  place.  Consider:  it  is  his  last 
fortress  except  that  stockade." 

"  You  mistake  him,  Edelwald.  He  would 
save  the  garrison  and  let  the  fort  go.     If 


M 


; 


r    I  II 


1 


'  !■■; 


I 


fi- 


ll:: 


li 


236        TUE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

he  or  you  had  not  come  to-night  I  must  have 
died  of  my  troubles." 

She  conquered  some  sobbing,  and  asked, 
"  How  does  he  bear  this  despair,  Edelwakl  ? 
for  he  knew  it  must  come  to  this  without 
help." 

"  He  was  heartsick  with  anxiety  to  re- 
turn, my  lady." 

She  leaned  against  the  back  of  the  settle. 

"  Do  not  say  things  to  induce  me  to  sacri- 
fice his  men  for  his  fort." 

"  Do  you  think,  my  lady,  that  D'Aulnay 
would  spare  the  garrison  if  he  gets  posses- 
sion of  this  fort  ?  " 

"  On  no  other  condition  will  he  get  the 
fort.  He  shall  let  all  my  brave  men  go  out 
with  the  honors  of  war." 

"  But  if  he  accepts  such  terms  —  will  he 
keej)  them  ?  " 

"  Is  not  any  man  obliged  to  keep  a  writ- 
ten ti'eaty  ?  " 

"  Kings  are  scarce  obliged  to  do  that." 

"  I  see  what  you  would  do,"  said  Marie, 
"and  I  tell  you  it  is  useless.     You  would 


if 


B!ii 


AN   ACAD/A.\   rASSOVEli. 


237 


m 


frighten  me  with  D'Auhiay  into  allowing 
you,  our  only  officer,  and  these  men,  our 
only  soldiers,  to  ransom  this  fort  with  your 
lives.  It  comes  to  that.  "We  might  hold 
out  a  few  more  days  and  end  by  being  at 
his  mercy." 

"  Let  the  men  themselves  be  spoken  to," 
entreated  Edelwald. 

"They  will  all,  like  you,  beg  to  give 
themselves  to  the  holding  of  Charles  La 
Tour's  property,  I  have  balanced  these 
matters  night  and  day.  We  must  surren- 
der, Edelwald.  We  must  surrender  to- 
morrow." 

"  My  lady,  I  am  one  more  man.  And  I 
will  now  take  charge  of  the  defense." 

"  And  what  could  I  say  to  my  lord  if  you 
were  killed  ?  —  you,  the  friend  of  his  house, 
the  soldier  who  lately  came  with  such  hopes 
to  Acadia.  Our  fortunes  do  you  harm 
enough,  Edelwald.  I  could  never  face  my 
lord  again  without  you  and  his  men." 

*'  Sieur  Charles  loves  me  well  enoucrh  to 
trust  me  with    his   most  dangerous   affairs. 


!-■    hi 


m  i 


h  '' 


l<    <r 


i 


IW 


i. 


m 

ml 
11^  i 


iiil 

mi 


1 

5t 

.    -  ■■!■■         ,     , 

i    , 

i^;. 

li>1  i: 

H    ■. ,. 

238        THE   LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

my  lady.  The  keeping  of  this  fortress  shall 
be  one  of  them." 

"  O  Edelwald,  go  away  from  me  now ! " 
she  cried  out  piteously.  He  dropped  his 
head  and  turned  on  the  instant.  The  women 
met  him  and  the  children  hung  to  him  ;  and 
that  little  being  who  was  neither  woman  nor 
child  so  resented  the  noise  which  tliey  made 
about  him  as  he  approached  her  table  that 
she  took  her  mandolin  and  swept  them  out 
of  her  way. 

"  IIow  fares  Shubenacadie  ?  "  he  inquired 
over  the  claw  she  presented  to  him. 

"  Shubenacadie's  feathers  are  curdled. 
He  hath  greatly  soured.  Confess  me  and 
give  me  thy  benediction,  Father  Edelwald, 
for  I  have  sinned." 

"  Not  since  I  took  these  orders,  I  hope," 
said  Edelwald.  "  As  a  Capuchin  I  am  only 
an  hour  old." 

"Within  the  hour,  then,  I  have  beaten 
my  swan,  bred  a  quarrel  amongst  these 
spawn  of  the  common  soldier,  and  wished  a 
woman  hanged." 


9> 


^A'  ACADIAN-  rASSOVEIi. 

''  A  naughty  list,"  said  Edelwakl. 


239 


"  Yes,  but  lying  is  worse  than  any  of 
these.     Lying  doth  make  the  soul  sick." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I  have  tried  it,"  said  Le  Kossignol. 
"  Many  a  time  have  I  tried  it.  Scarce  half 
an  hour  ago  I  told  her  forlorn  old  highness 
that  the  fort  was  surely  taken  this  time, 
and  I  think  she  hath  buried  herself  in  her 
chest." 

"  Edelwakl,"  said  a  voice  from  the  tapes- 
tried pavilion.  Lady  Dorinda's  head  and 
hand  appeared,  with  the  curtains  drawn  be- 
hind them. 

As  the  soldier  bent  to  his  service  upon 
the  hand  of  the  old  maid  of  honor,  she  ex- 
claimed whimsically,  — 

"  What,  Edelwakl !  Are  our  fortunes  at 
such  ebb  that  you  are  taking  to  a  Eomish 
cloister?" 

"  No  cloister  for  me.  Your  ladyship  sees 
only  a  cover  which  I  think  of  renderino-  to 
its  owner  again.  He  may  not  have  a  sec- 
ond capote  in  the  world,  being  friar  extraor- 


i 


m 


I 


1 1! 


m 

J- J': 


240        '/'//A"  7..1/)r  C>F  FOIiT  ST.  JOHN. 

dinary  to  D'Aulnay  dc  Chavnisay,  who  is 
notable  for  seizing  other  men's  goods." 

"  Edelwahl,  you  bring  ill  news  ?  " 

"  There  was  none  other  to  bring." 

"  Is  Charles  La  Tour  then  in  such  straits 
that  we  are  to  have  no  relief  in  this  for- 
tress ?  " 

"  We  can  look  for  nothing,  Lady  Do- 
rinda." 

"  Thou  seest  now,  Edelwald,  how  France 
requites  his  service.  If  he  had  listened  to 
his  father  he  might  to-day  be  second  to  none 
in  Acadia,  with  men  and  wealth  in  abun- 
dance." 

*'  Yet,  your  ladyship,  we  love  our 
France !  " 

*'  Oh,  you  'do  put  me  out  of  patience ! 
But  the  discomforts  and  perils  of  this  siege 
have  scarce  left  me  any.  We  are  walled 
together  here  like  sheep." 

"It  is  trying,  your  ladyship,  but  if  we 
succeed  in  keeping  the  butcher  out  we  may 
do  better  presently." 

Marie  sent  her  woman  for  writing  tools, 


AN  ACM)  I  AS   VAUSUVEH.  241 

and  was  busy  with  them  when  Edelwahl  rc- 
turncil  in  his  ordinary  rich  dark  dress.  She 
made  liim  a  phicc  beside  her  on  tlie  settle, 
and  submitted  the  paper  to  liis  eye.  The 
women  and  chiklren  listened.  They  knew 
their  situation  was  desperate.  Whispering 
together  they  decided  with  their  lady  that 
she  would  do  best  to  save  her  soldiers  and 
sacrihee  the  fort. 

Edelwald  read  the  terms  she  intended  to 
demand,  and  then  looked  aside  at  the  beau- 
tiful and  tender  woman  who  had  borne  the 
hardships  of  war.     She  should  do  anything 
she  wished.     It  was  worth  while  to  surren- 
der if  surrendering  decreased  her  care.     All 
Acadia  was  nothing  when  weighed  against 
her  peace  of  mind.     He  felt  his  vagc  mount- 
ing against  Charles  La  Tour  for  leaving  her 
exposed  in  this  frontier  post,  the  instrument 
of   her  lord's   ambition    and  political  feud. 
In  EdelwakVs  silent  and  ungucssed  warfare 
with  his  secret,  ho  had  this  one  small  half 
hour's  truce.     Marie  sat  under  his  eyes  in 
the  firelight,  depending  on  the    comfort  of 


si 


Id;.. 


15^ 


SI 


.  1 


l!: 


242 


77//;  A.i/>r  <'>/••  /''c'A'y  ^r.  jojin. 


liis  presence.  Kiipture  opened  its  sensitive 
flower  and  life  cnlniinated  for  liini.  Uncon- 
seious  of  it,  she  wrote  down  his  sn<^gestions, 
bending  her  head  seriously  to  tlie  task. 

Edelwakl  himself  finally  made  a  draft  of 
the  paper  for  D'Aulnay.  The  weary  men 
had  thrown  themselves  down  to  sleep,  and 
heard  no  colloquy.  But  presently  the  cook 
was  aroused  from  among  them  and  bid  to 
set  out  such  a  feast  as  he  had  never  before 
made  in  Fort  St.  John. 

"  Use  of  our  best  supplies,"  directed 
Marie.  "•  To-morrow  we  may  give  up  all 
we  have  remaining  to  the  enemy.  We  will 
eat  a  great  sujiper  together  this  Paques 
night." 

The  cook  took  an  assistant  and  labored 
well.  Kettles  and  pans  multiplied  on  coals 
raked  out  for  their  service.  Marie  had  the 
men  bring  such  doors  as  remained  from  the 
barracks  and  lay  them  from  table  to  ^ 
making  one  long  board  for  he^ 
and   this    the   women    dressed  the 

linen  of  the  house.     They  set  on  plate     hieh 


st 


i 


^m 


A  X  A  CA  I)  I A  X  I'A  SS  U  \ '  /;  A*. 


243 


liad  been  in  L:i  Tom's  family  for  ci^enera- 
tions.  Kveiy  aeeiiniulation  of  prosju'iity 
was  bronglit  out  for  this  final  use.  The 
tunnel  in  the  wall  was  stopped  with  blankets, 
and  wax  candles  were  lighted  everywhere. 
Odors  of  festivity  lilh'd  the  children  with 
eagerness.  It  was  like  the  new  year  when 
there  was  always  merry-making  in  the  hall, 
yet  it  was  also  like  a  religious  ceremony. 
The  men  rose  from  their  i)allets  and  set 
aside  screens,  and  the  news  was  spread  when 
sentinels  were  changed. 

Marie  called  Zelie  up  to  her  ruined  apart- 
ment, and  standing  amidst  stone  and  j)laster, 
was  dressed  in  her  most  magnificent  gown 
and  jewels.  She  appeared  on  the  stairs  in 
the  royal  blackness  of  velvet  whitened  by 
laces  and  sparkling  with  points  of  tinted 
fire.  Edelwald  led  her  to  the  head  of  the 
long  board,  and  she  directed  her  people  to 
range  themselves  down  its  length  in  the  or- 
der of  their  families. 

"My  men,"  said  Madame  La  Tour  to 
each  party  in  turn  as  they  were  relieved  on 


it--.". 

p'' '■■■ 

5  ■, 


I' 


Mi' 


I 

m 


ail. 


i 


ill 


I 


244        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOfLV. 

the  walls  to  sit  down  at  the  table  below  her, 
"  we  are  holding;  a  passover  supper  this 
Pilques  night  because  it  may  be  our  last 
night  in  Fort  St.  John.  You  all  understand 
how  Sieur  de  la  Tour  hath  fared.  We  are 
reduced  to  the  lasb  straits.  Yet  not  to  the 
last  straits,  my  men,  if  we  can  keep  you. 
With  such  followers  your  lord  can  make 
some  stand  elsewhere.  D'Aulnay  has  pro- 
posed a  surrender.  I  refused  his  terms,  and 
have  set  down  others,  which  will  sacrifice 
the  fort  but  save  the  garrison.  Edelwald, 
our  only  officer,  is  against  surrender,  be- 
cause he,  like  youroclves,  would  give  the 
greater  for  the  ^3ss,  which  1  cannot  allow." 

*'  My  lady,"  spoke  Glaud  Burge,  a  sturdy 
grizzled  man,  rising  to  speak  for  the  first 
squad,  "  we  have  been  talking  of  this  mat- 
ter together,  and  we  think  Edelwald  is  right. 
The  fort  is  hard  beset,  and  it  is  true  there 
are  fewer  of  us  than  at  first,  but  wc  may 
hold  out  somehow  and  keep  the  walls  around 
us.  We  have  no  stomach  to  strike  flag  to 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay. ' 


II 


AN  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


245 


"My  lady,"  spoke  Jean  le  Prince,  the 
youngest  man  in  the  fortress,  who  was  ap- 
pointed to  speak  for  tlie  second  squad  when 
their  turn  came  to  sit  down  at  the  table, 
"  we  also  think  Edelwald  is  right  in  counsel- 
ing you  not  to  give  up  Fort  St.  John.  AVe 
say  nothing  of  D'Aulnay's  hanging  Kluss- 
man,  for  Klussman  deserved  it.  But  we 
would  rather  be  shot  down  man  by  man 
than  go  out  by  the  grace  of  D'Aulnay." 

She  answered  both  squads,  — 

"  Do  not  argue  against  surrender,  my  men. 
We  can  look  for  no  help.  The  fort  must 
go  in  a  few  more  days  anyhow,  and  by 
capitulating  we  can  make  terms.  ^My  lord 
can  build  other  forts,  but  where  w^ill  he  find 
other  followers  like  you  ?  You  wdll  march 
out  not  by  the  grace  of  D'Aulnay  but  with 
the  honors  of  wiiv.  Xow  speak  of  it  no 
more,  and  let  us  make  this  a  festival." 

So  they  made  it  a  festival.  AVith  guards 
coming  and  going  constantly,  every  man 
took  the  pleasure  of  the  hall  while  the  walls 
were  kept. 


246 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  J  OILY. 


m 

tilt  • 


:  kil 


i 


u 


I 

1 


t 


ill 


I 
iff' 

I        * 


Such  a  night  was  never  before  celebrated 
in  Fort  St.  tTohn.  A  heavier  race  might 
have  touched  the  sadness  underlying  such 
gayety  ;  or  have  fathomed  moonlight  to  that 
terrible  burden  of  the  elm-tree  down  the 
slope.  But  this  French  garrison  lent  them- 
selves heartily  to  the  hour,  enjoying  without 
past  or  future.  Stories  were  told  of  the 
New  World  and  of  France,  tales  of  perse- 
cuted Huguenots,  legends  which  their 
fathers  had  handed  down  to  them,  and  tra- 
ditions picked  up  among  the  Indians.  Edel- 
wald  took  the  dwarf's  mandolin  and  stood 
up  among  them  singing  the  songs  they 
loved,  the  high  and  courageous  songs,  lov- 
ing songs,  and  songs  of  faith.  Lady  Do- 
rinda,  having  shut  her  curtain  for  the  night, 
declined  to  take  any  part  in  this  household 
festivity,  though  she  contributed  some  un- 
heard sighs  and  groans  of  aiuioyance  during 
its  progress.  A  phlegmatic  woman,  fond  of 
her  ease,  could  hardly  keep  her  tranquillity, 
besieged  by  cannon  in  the  daytime,  and  by 
chattering   and   laughter,   the    cracking   of 


111. 


;■!  ■       li 


^1^  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


247 


nuts  and  the  thump  of  soldiers'  feet  half  the 
night. 

But  Shubenaeadie  came  out  of  his  corner 
and  lifted  his  wings  for  battle.     Le  Kossi- 
gnol  first  soothed   him   and   then  betrayed 
him    into   shoes    of    birch   bark  which   slie 
carried  in   her   pocket   for   the    purpose  of 
making  Shubenaeadie  dance.    Shubenaeadie 
began    to   dance    in   a  wild  untutored   trot 
most  laughable  to  see.     He  varied  his  pad- 
dling on  the  flags   by  sallies  with  bill  and 
wings  against  the  dear  mistress  who  made 
him  a  spectacle  ;  and  finally  at  Marie's  word 
he  was  relieved,  and  waddled  back  to  his 
corner  to  eat  and  doze  and  mutter  swan  talk 
against  such  orgies  in  Fort  St.  John.     The 
children   had   long  fallen   asleep  with   rap- 
turous fatigue,  when  Marie   stood   up   and 
made   her   people  follow  her   in   a   prayer. 
The  waxlights  were  then  put  out,  screens 
divided  the  camp,  and  quiet  followed. 

Of  all  niglits  in  Le  Rossignol's  life  this 
one  seemed  least  likely  to  be  chosen  as  her 
occasion  for  a  flight.   The  walls  were  strictly 


m- 


.  n 


248        TI/E  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

guarded,  and  at  midnight  the  moon  spread 
its  ghostly  day  over  all  visible  earth.  Be- 
sides, if  the  fortress  was  to  be  surrendered, 
there  was  immediate  prospect  of  a  voyage 
for  all  the  household. 

The  dwarf's  world  was  near  the  ground, 
to  which  the  thinking  of  the  tall  men  and 
women  around  her  scarcely  stooped.  But 
she  seized  on  and  weighed  and  tried  their 
thoughts,  arriving  at  shrewd  issues.  No- 
body had  asked  her  advice  about  the  capitu- 
lation. Without  asking  anybody's  advice 
she  decided  that  the  Ilollandais  Van  Corlaer 
and  the  Jesuit  priest  Father  Jogues  would 
be  wholesome  checks  upon  D'Aulnay  de 
Charnisay  when  her  lady  opened  the  fort  to 
him.  The  weather  must  have  prevented 
Van  Corlaer  from  getting  beyond  the  sound 
of  cannon,  and  neither  he  nor  the  priest 
could  indifferently  leave  the  lady  of  St. 
John  to  her  fate,  and  Madame  Antonia 
would  rci'.se  to  do  it.  Le  Rossignol  be- 
lieved the  party  that  had  set  out  early  in  the 
week  nnist  be  encamped  not  far  away. 


il     i!i 


w 


AN  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


24i> 


Edelwald  mounted  a  bastion  with  the  sen- 
tinels. That  weird  light  of  the  moon  which 
seems  the  faded  and  forgotten  ghost  of  day, 
rested  everywhere.  The  shadow  of  the 
tower  fell  inward,  and  also  partly  covered 
the  front  wall.  This  enchanted  land  of 
night  cooled  Edelwald.  lie  threw  his  arms 
upward  with  a  passionate  gesture  to  which 
the  soldiers  had  become  accustomed  in  their 
experience  of  the  young  chevalier. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  exclaimed  the  man 
nearest  him,  for  there  was  disturbance  in 
the  opposite  bastion.  Edelwald  moved  at 
once  across  the  interval  of  wall  and  found 
the  sentinels  in  that  bastion  divided  between 
laughter  and  superstitious  awe. 

"  She 's  out  again,"  said  one. 

"  Who  is  out?  "  demanded  Edelwald. 

"  The  little  swan-riding  witch." 

"You  have  not  let  the  dwarf  scale  this 
wall  ?  If  she  could  do  that  unobserved,  my 
men,  we  are  lax." 

"  She  is  one  who  will  neither  be  let  nor 
hindered.  We  are  scarce  sure  we  even  saw 
her.     There  was  but  tho  swoop  of  wings." 


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11 


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^:il; 


250 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


"  Why,  Renot,  my  lad,"  insisted  Edel- 
wald,  "  we  could  see  her  white  swan  now  in 
this  noon  of  moonlight,  if  she  were  abroad. 
Besides,  D'Aulnay  has  sentinels  stationed 
around  this  height.     They  will  check  her." 

"  They  will  check  the  wind  across  Fundy 
Bay  first,"  said  the  other  man. 

"You  cannot  think  Le  liossignol  has 
risen  in  the  air  on  her  swan's  back  ?  That 
is  too  absurd,"  said  Edelwald.  "  No  one 
ever  saw  her  play  such  pranks.  And  you 
could  have  winged   the   heavy  bird   as  he 


rose. 


jj 


"  I  know  she  is  out  of  Fort  St.  John  at 
this  minute,"  insisted  Renot  Babinet.  "  And 
how  are  you  to  wing  a  bird  which  gets  out 
of  sight  before  you  know  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  I  say  it  is  no  wonder  we  have  trouble 
in  this  seigniory,"  growled  the  other  man. 
"  Our  lady  never  could  see  a  mongrel  baby 
or  a  witch  dwarf  or  a  stray  black  gown  any- 
where, but  she  must  have  it  into  the  fort  and 
make  it  free  of  the  best  here." 


I 


^.V  ACADIAN  PASSOVER. 


251 


"  And  God  forever  bless  lier,"  said  Edel- 
wald,  baring  Iiis  head. 

"  Amen,"  they  both  responded  with  force 

The  silent  cry  was  mighty  behind  Edel- 
wald's  lips ;  —  the  cry  which  he  intrusted 
not  even  to  his  human  breath  — 

"  My  love  —  my  love  !  My  royal  lady  ! 
God,  thou  who  alone  knowest  my  secret, 
make  me  a  giant  to  hold  it  down  !  " 


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XVIII. 

THE   SONG   OF  EDELWALD. 

At  daybreak  a  signal  on  the  wall  where 
it  could  be  seen  from  D'Aulnay's  camp 
brought  an  officer  and  his  men  to  receive 
Madame  La  Tour's  dispatches.  Glaud 
Burge  handed  them  down  at  the  end  of  a 
ramrod. 

"  But  see  yonder,"  he  said  to  Franc^ois 
Bastarack  his  companion,  as  they  stood  and 
watched  the  messengers  tramp  away.  He 
pointed  to  Klussman  below  the  fort  —  poor 
Klussman  whom  the  pearly  vapors  of  morn- 
ing could  not  conceal.  "  I  could  have  done 
that  mvself  in  first  heat,  but  I  like  not 
treating  with  a  man  who  did  it  coolly." 

Parleying  and  demurring  over  the  terms 
of  surrender  continued  until  noon.  All 
that  time  ax,  saw  and  hammer  worked  in. 


..     ,y 


tl 


Tin:  suxa  of  kdedvald. 


253 


D'Aulnay's  camp  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
taken  to  slilp-building.  But  the  pastimes 
of  a  victorious  force  are  regarded  with  dull 
attention  by  the  vanquished.  Finally  the 
paj^ers  were  handed  uj)  bearing  D'Aulnay's 
signature.  They  guaranteed  to  jMadame 
La  Tour  the  safety  of  her  garrison,  who 
were  to  march  out  with  their  arms  and  per- 
sonal belongings,  the  household  goods  of 
her  people  ;  and  La  Tour's  ship  with  pro- 
visions enough  to  stock  it  for  a  voyage.  The 
money,  merchandise,  stores,  jewels  and  ord- 
nance fell  to  D'Aulnay  with  the  fort. 

D'Aulnay  marched  directly  on  his  con- 
quest. His  drums  a2)proached,  and  the  gar- 
rison ran  to  throw  into  a  heap  such  things 
as  they  and  their  families  were  to  take 
away.  Spotless  weather  and  a  dimpled  bay 
adorned  this  lost  seigniory.  It  was  better 
than  any  dukedom  in  France  to  these  first 
exiled  Acadians.  Pierre  Doucett's  widow 
and  another  bereaved  woman  knelt  to  cry 
once  more  over  the  trench  by  the  powder- 
house.     Her  baby,  hid  in  a  case  like  a  bol- 


Ml 


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M  I 


254        TUi:  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOIIX. 

ster,  hung  iicross  lier  shoulder.  Lady  Do- 
rindii's  helongings,  uunibcred  amoug  the 
goods  of  the  household,  were  also  placed 
near  the  gate.  She  sat  within  the  hall, 
wrapped  for  her  journey,  composed  and  si- 
lent. For  when  the  evil  day  actually  over- 
took Lady  Doriuda,  she  was  too  thorough 
a  Briton  to  cringe.  She  met  her  second 
repulse  from  Acadia  as  she  had  met  her 
first,  when  Claude  La  Tour  found  her  his 
only  consolation.  In  this  violent  uprooting 
of  family  life  so  long  grown  to  one  place, 
Lo  Rossignol  was  scarcely  missed.  Each 
one  thought  of  the  person  dearest  to  himself 
and  of  that  person's  comfort.  JMarie  noted 
her  absence,  but  the  dwarf  never  came  to 
harm.  She  was  certain  to  rejoin  the  house- 
hold somewhere,  and  who  could  blame  her 
for  avoiding  the  capitulation  if  she  found  it 
possible?  The  little  Nightingale  could  not 
endure  pain.  Edelwald  drew  the  garrison 
up  in  line  and  the  gates  were  opened. 

D'Aulnay  entered  the  fort  with  his  small 
army.    He  was  splendidly  dressed,  and  such 


m 


his 


THE  SONG   OF  EDEL  WALD.  255 

pieces  of  armor  as  he  wore  (hazzled  tho  eye. 
As  he  returned  the  salute  of  Kdelvvald  and 
the  garrison,  lie  paused  and  whitened  with 
chagrin.    Klussman  had  told  him  something 
of  the  weakness  of  the  idace,  but  he  had  no^t 
expected  to  find    such  a  pitiful  remnant  of 
men.     Twenty-three  soldiers  and  an  officer! 
These  were  the  precious  creatures  who  had 
cost  him  so  much,  and  whom  their  lady  was 
so  anxious  to  save!     He  smiled  at  the  dis- 
proportionate  preparations  made  by  his  ham- 
mers  and  saws,  and  glanced  back  to  see  if 
the    timbers  were  being  carried  in.     They 
were,  at  the  rear  of  his  force,  but  behind 
them    intruded    Father    Vincent   do    Paris 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  which  one  of  the  sol- 
diers had  provided  for  him.     The  scantiness 
of  this  good  friar's  apparel  should  have  re- 
strained him  in  camp.     But  he  was  such  an 
apostle  as  stalks  naked  to  duty  if  need  be, 
and  he  felt  it  his  present  duty  to  keep  the 
check  of  religion  upon  the  implacable  na- 
ture of  D'Aulnay  de  Cliarni.say. 

D'Aulnay   ordered    the   gates   shut.     lie 


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If 


}•:,! 


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I 

25G      /'///:  /-.i/>}'  '>/'  ronr  sr.  .ions. 

would  have  shut  out  Fiithor  Viuceut,  ])ut  it 
couhl  not  he  managed  without  great  dis- 
courtesy, and  there  are  limits  to  that  with  a 
churchman.  The  household  and  garrison 
ready  to  dei)art  saw  this  strange  action  with 
dismay,  and  Marie  stepped  directly  down 
from  her  hall  to  confront  her  enemy.  D'Aul- 
nay  had  seen  her  at  l*ort  Koyal  when  he 
first  came  to  Acadia.  He  remembered  her 
motion  in  the  dance.,  and  approved  of  it. 
She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  though  her 
Huguenot  gown  and  close  cap  now  gave  her 
a  widowed  look  —  becoming  to  a  woman  of 
exploits.  But  she  was  also  the  woman  to 
whom  he  owed  one  defeat  and  much  humil- 
iation. 

He  swept  his  plume  at  her  feet. 

"  Permit  me,  Madame  La  Tour,  to  make 
my  compliments  to  an  amazon.  My  own 
taste  are  women  who  stay  in  the  house  at 
their  prayers,  but  the  Sieur  de  la  Tour  and 
I  differ  in  many  things." 

"  Doubtless,  my  lord  De  Charnisay,"  re- 
sponded Marie  with  the  dignity  which  can- 


THE  .sox(;  OF  i.diilwald. 


2'ol 


not  taunt,  tliou;;li  she  still  bclii^votl  the  out- 
cast child  to  ho  his.  *'  I  hit  why  have  you 
closed  on  us  the  gates  which  wo  02)ened  to 
you  ?  " 

"^ladame,  I  liavo  heen  deceived  in  the 
terms  of  capitulation." 

*'  My  lord,  the  terms  of  capitulation  were 
set  down  plainly  and  I  hold  them  signed  hy 
your  hand." 

*'  But  a  signature  is  nothing  when  gross 
advantage  hath  heen  taken  of  one  of  the 
parties  to  a  treaty." 

The  mistake  she  had  made  in  trusting  to 
the  military  honor  of  D'Aulnay  de  Cliar- 
nisay  swept  through  Marie.  But  she  con- 
trolled her  voice  to  incpiire,  — 

*'  What  gross  advantage  can  there  he,  my 
lord  D'Aulnay  —  unless  you  are  about  to 
take  a  gross  advantage  of  us  ?  AVe  leave 
you  here  ten  thousand  pounds  of  the  money 
of  England,  our  plate  and  jewels  and  furs, 
and  our  stores  except  a  little  food  for  a 
journey.  AVe  go  out  poor ;  yet  if  our  treaty 
is  kept  we  shall  complain  of  no  gross  ad- 
vantage." 


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11 


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258        THE  LADY   OF  FORT  ST.    JOHN. 

''  Look  at  tliose  luc'ii,"'  said  D'Aulnay, 
bliaking  liIs  glove  at  li(ir  soldiers. 

"  Those  weary  and  faithful  men,"  said 
Marie  :  "  I  sec  them." 

"  You  will  see  them  hanged  as  traitors, 
madanie.  I  have  no  time  to  parley,"  ex- 
claimed D'Aulnay.  "  Tlie  terms  of  ca])itnla- 
tion  are  not  satisfactory  to  me.  I  do  not 
feel  hound  by  them.  You  may  take  your 
women  and  withdi'aw  when  you  please,  but 
tiiese  men  I  shall  ];an":." 

AVliile  he  spoke  he  lifted  and  shook  his 
hand  as  if  giving  a  signal,  and  the  garrison 
was  that  instant  seized  by  his  soldiers.  Her 
women  screamed.  There  was  such  a  strug- 
gle in  the  fort  as  there  had  been  upon  the 
wall,  except  that  she  herself  stood  blank  in 
mind,  and  i)ulseless.  The  actual  and  the 
unreal  shimmered  together.  I5ut  there  .^ood 
her  gai'rison,  from  Edelwald  to  Jean  le 
Prince,  bound  like  criminals,  regarding  their 
captors  with  that  baffled  and  half  ashamed 
look  of  the  sur])rised  and  overpowered. 
Above  the  mass  of  O'Aulnay's  busy  soldiery 


F 

f 

I 


i,f: 


Tin:  80X0  OF  edklwald. 


259 


timber  iii)rights  were  reared,  and  liamniers 
and  spikes  set  to  work  on  the  likeness  of  a 
scaffold.  The  preparations  of  the  nioniinrr- 
made  the  completion  of  tliis  task  swift  and 
easy.  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisa  -  intended  to 
hang  her  nranison  wlien  lie  set  his  name  to 
the  paper  seenring  their  lives.  The  rinoiiur 
of  hammers  sounded  far  off  to  Marie. 

"I  don't  understand  these  thin«rs,"  she 
articulated.  "  1  don't  understand  anything 
in  the  world  !  " 

D' Anlnay  gave  himself  up  to  watehiiig  the 
process,  in  spite  of  Father  Vincent  de  Paris, 
whose    steady    remonstrances    he    answered 
only  by  shrugs.     In  tliat    age    of  religious 
slaughter  the  Capuchin    co;ild   scarcely  ob- 
ject to  decreasing  heretics,  but  he  did  ob- 
ject as  a  man  and  a  priest  to  such  barbarous 
treachery  toward  men  with  whom  a  comj)act 
had   been    mad  .     The    refined    nurture   of 
France  was  not  recent  in  D'Aulnay's  expe- 
rience, but  he   came  of  a  great  and  honor- 
able house,  and  the  friar's  appeal  was  made 
to  inherited  instincts. 


V; 


ilHj 


j5^ 


'Ir 


m 


Pi 


^ 


260 


r///:  /./iz)r  of  fort  st.  joilv. 


"  Good  churchman,"  spoke  out  Jean  le 
Prince,  the  lad,  shaking  his  hair  back  from 
his  face,  "  your  capote  and  sandals  lie  there 
by  the  door  of  the  tower,  wliere  Edelwald 
took  thought  to  place  them  for  you.  But 
you  "who  have  the  soldier's  heart  should 
wear  the  soldier's  dress,  and  hide  D'Aulnay 
de  Charnisay  under  the  cowl." 

"  You  men-at-arms,"  Glaud  Burge  ex- 
horted the  guards  drawn  up  on  each  side  of 
him  and  his  fellow-Drisoners, "  will  you  hang 
us  up  like  dogs  ?  If  we  mii:5t  die  we  claim 
the  death  of  soldiers.  You  have  your  pieces 
in  your  hands  ;  .shoot  us.  Do  us  such  grace 
as  we  would  do  you  in  like  extremity." 

The  guards  looked  aside  at  each  other 
and  then  at  their  master,  shamed  through 
their  peasant  blood  by  the  outrage  they  were 
obliged  to  put  upon  a  courageous  garrison. 
But  Kdelwald  said  nothing.  His  eyes  were 
upon  Marie.  lie  would  not  increase  her 
anguish  of  self-reproach  by  the  change  of  a 
nuiscle  in  his  face.  The  garrison  was 
trapped   and  at  the   mercy  of   a  merciless 


^r 


THE   SONG   OF  EDELWALI). 


261 


enemy.  His  most  passionate  desire  was  to 
have  lier  taken  away  that  she  might  not 
witness  tlie  exeeutlon.  Wliy  was  Sieur 
Charles  La  Tom'  sitting  in  the  stockade  at 
the  head  of  Fnndy  Bay  wliile  she  must  en- 
dure the  sight  of  this  scaifohl  ? 

Marie's  women  knelt  around  her  cryino*. 
Her  slow  distracted  gaze  traveled  from 
Glaud  Burge  to  Jean  le  Prince,  from  Renot 
Babinct  to  Francois  Bastarack,  from  Am- 
broise  Tibedeaux  along  the  line  of  stanch 
faces  to  Edelwald.  His  calm  uplifted  coun- 
tenance—  with  the  horrible  platform  of 
death  growing  behind  it  —  looked  as  it  did 
when  he  hai)pily  met  the  sea  wind  or  went 
singing  through  trackless  wilderness.  She 
broke  from  her  trance  and  the  ring  of 
women,  and  ran  before  D'Aulnay  de  Char- 
nisay. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Marie  — -  and  she  was  so 
beautiful  in  her  ivory  pallor,  so  wonderful 
with  fire  moving  from  the  deep  places  of  her 
dilated  black  eyes  that  he  felt  satisfaction  in 
attending  to  her — '^it  is  useless  to  talk  to 
a  man  like  you."' 


f'M 


Mi 


lii 


■  I  ■  ' 


2G2        THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

"  Quite,  madamo,"  said  D'Aiilnay.  "  I 
never  discuss  affairs  with  a  woman." 

"  But  you  may  discuss  them  with  the 
king  when  lie  learns  tliat  you  have  hanged 
with  other  soldiers  of  a  ransomed  garrison  a 
young  officer  of  the  house  of  De  Born." 

D'Aulnay  ran  his  eye  along  the  line.  The 
unrest  of  Edelwald  at  Marie's  slightest 
parley  with  D'Aulnay  reminded  the  keen 
governor  of  the  face  he  had  last  night  seen 
under  the  cowl. 

"  The  king  will  he  obliged  to  me,"  he 
observed,  "  when  one  less  heretical  De  Born 
cumbers  his  realm." 

"  The  only  plea  I  make  to  you,  my  lord 
D'Aulnay,  is  that  you  hang  me  also.  For  I 
deserve  it.  My  men  had  no  faith  in  your 
military  honor,  and  I  had." 

*'  ]Madame,  you  remiiui  nic  of  a  fact  I  de- 
sired to  overlook.  You  are  indeed  a  traitor 
deserviug  death.  But  of  my  clemency,  and 
noi/  because  you  are  a  woman,  for  you  your- 
self have  forjrotten  that  in  meddlinfi:  with 
war,  I  will  only  parade  you  upon  the  scaf- 


I,  -M 

It 


THE  SONG   OF  EDELWALT). 


2G3 


(( 


the 


fold  as  a  reprieved  criminal.     Bring  hither 
a   cord,*'   called    D'Aulnay,  "and   noose   it 
over  this  lady's  head.  "     Edelwald  raged  in 
a  hopeless  tearing  at  his  bonds.    The  gnards 
seized   him,  bnt   he    struggled  with   nncon- 
qnered   strength    to   reach    and  protect   his 
lady.     Father  Vincent  de  Paris  had  taken 
his  capote  and   sandals   at  Jean  le  Prince's 
hint,  and    entered    the   tower.     lie  clothed 
himself   behind  one    of   the   screens  of    the 
hall,  and  thought  his  absence  short,  but  dur- 
ing that  time  Marie  was  put  ui)on  the  fin- 
ished scaffold.     A  skulking  reluctant  soldier 
of   D'Anlnay's    led    her   by   a   cord.      She 
walked  the  long  rough  planks  erect.     Her 
garrison  to  a  man  looked  down,  as  they  did 
at   funerals,   and    Edelwald    sobbed   in   his 
fight  against  the  guards,  the  tears  starting 
from  under  his  eyelids  as  he  heard  her  foot- 
fall  pass   near  him.     Back   and  forth   she 
trod,  and   D'Aulnay  watched  the  spectacle. 
Her  garrison  felt   her  degradation   as   she 
must  feel  tlieir  death.     The  grizzled  lip  of 
Glaud  Burge  moved  first  to  comfort  her. 


? 


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I-' ' 


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u 


W"' . 


ii  ' 


264        THE  LADY  01''  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 

"  My  lady,  thougli  our  liands  be  tied,  we 
make  our  military  salute  to  you,"  he  said. 

"Fret  not,  my  lady,"  said  lienot  Babi- 
net. 

"  Edelwald  can  turn  all  these  mishaps 
into  a  song,  my  lady,"  declared  Jean  le 
Prince.  Marie  had  that  sensation  of  lost 
identity  which  has  confused  us  all.  In  her 
walk  she  passed  the  loops  dangling  ready 
for  her  men.  A  bird,  poised  for  one  instant 
on  the  turret,  uttered  a  sweet  long  trill. 
She  could  hear  the  river.  It  was  incredible 
that  all  those  unknown  faces  should  be 
swarming  below  her ;  that  the  garrison  was 
obliged  to  stand  tied  ;  that  Lady  Dorinda 
had  braved  the  rabble  of  soldiery  and  come 
out  to  wait  weeping  at  the  scaffold  end. 
Marie  looked  at  the  row  of  downcast  faces. 
The  bond  between  these  faithful  soldiers 
and  herself  was  that  Instant  sublime. 

*'  I  cra^'e  pardon  of  you  all,"  said  Marie 
as  she  came  back  and  the  rustle  of  her  gown 
again  passed  them,  '*•  for  not  knowing  how 
to  deal  with  the  crafty  of  this  world.     jVIy 


Ht:. 


THE  SONG   OF  EDEL  WALD. 


265 


foolishness   lias   brouoht  you   to   this   scaf- 
fold." 

"No,  my  lady,"  said  the  men  in  full 
chorus. 

"We  desire  nothing  better,  my  lady," 
said  Edelwald,  "since  your  walking  there 
has  blessed  it." 

Father  Vincent's  voice  from  the  tower 
door  arrested  the  spectacle.  His  cowl  was 
pushed  back  to  his  shoulders,  baring  the  as- 
tonishment  of  his  lean  face. 

"  This  is  the  unworthiest  action  of  your 
life,  my  son  De  Charnisay,"  he  denounced, 
shaking  his  finger  and  striding  down  at  the 
governor,  who  owned  the  check  by  a  slight 
grimace. 

"It  is  enough,"  said  D'Aulnay.  "Let 
the  scaffold  now  be  cleared  for  the  men." 

He  submitted  with  impatience  to  a  con- 
tinued parley  with  the  Capuchin.  Father 
Vincent  de  Paris  was  angry.  And  con- 
stantly  as  D'Aulnay  walked  from  him  he 
zealously  followed. 

The   afternoon   sunlight   sloped  into   the 


w 


*'- 


M;"..  ^ 

J!   '  "  ■ 

,'. 

til./ 

ti:i 


;■.;  M 


2G6 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


walls,  leaving  a  bank  of  shadow  behind  the 
timbered  framework,  wliieh  extended  an 
etehing  of  itself  toward  the  esi)lanade.  The 
lengthened  figures  of  soldiers  passed  also  In 
cloudy  images  along  the  broken  ground,  for 
a  subaltern's  first  duty  had  been  to  set 
guards  upon  the  walls.  The  new  master  of 
Fort  St.  John  was  now  master  of  all  south- 
ern and  western  Acadia;  but  he  had  heard 
nothin":  which  secured  him  against  La 
Tour's  return  with  fresh  troops. 

"  My  friends,"  said  D'Auluay,  speaking 
to  the  garrison,  "  this  good  friar  persuades 
in  me  more  softness  than  becomes  a  faithful 
servant  of  the  king.  One  of  your  number 
I  will  reprieve." 

"  Then  let  it  be  Jean  le  Prince,"  said 
Edelwald,  speaking  for  tlie  first  time  to 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay.  "  The  down  has 
not  yet  grown  on  the  lad's  lip." 

"  But  I  pardon  him,"  continued  the  gov- 
ernor, "  on  condition  that  he  hangs  the  rest 
of  you." 

"  Hang  thyself !  "  cried  the  boy.     '^  Thou 


THE  SOXG    OF  EDKLWALU.  iJOj 

art  tlie  only  man  ou  earth  I  would  choke 
with  a  rope." 

"  Will  no  one  be  reprieved  ?  " 

D'Aulnay's  eye  traveled  from  scorn  to 
scorn  along  the  row. 

"  It  is  but  the  pushing  aside  of  a  slab. 
They  are  all  stubborn  heretics,  Father  Vin- 
cent. We  waste  time.  I  should  be  inspect- 
ing  the  contents  of  this  fort." 

The  women  and  children  were  flattening 
themselves   like   terrified    swallows    agaius't 
the  gate ;  for  through  the  hum  of   sthiing 
soldiery  penetrated  to  them  from  outside  a 
hint  of  voices  not  unknown.     The  sentinels 
had  watched   a   party  a])proacliing ;  but   it 
was  so  small,  and  hampered,  moreover,  by  a 
woman  and  some  object  like  a  tiny  gilded 
sedan    chair,  that    they  did   not   notify  the 
governor.     One  of  the  party  was  a  Jesuit 
priest  by  his  cassock,  and  another  his  donne. 
These  never  came  from  La  Tour.     Another 
was   a   tall   Ilolhmdais;  and   two   servants 
lightly  carried  the  sedan  uj)  the  slope.     A 
few  more  people  seemed  to  wait  behind  for 


m 


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77/ A'   LADY   OF  FOJiT  HT.   JO  US'. 


the  purpose  of  inakiiii];'  a  oamp,  and  tliere 
were  scarce  a  dozen  of  tlu;  entire  (•onij)any. 

Marie  liad  borne  witliout  visible  exliaus- 
tion  the  labors  of  this  siege,  the  anguish  of 
treaclieiy  and  disappointment,  her  enemy's 
breach  of  faith  and  cruel  })arade  of  her. 
The  garrison  were  ranged  ready  ui)on  the 
plank ;  but  she  held  herself  in  tense  control, 
and  waited  beside  Lady  Dorinda,  with  her 
back  toward  the  gate,  while  her  friends  out- 
side parleyed  with  her  enemy.  D'Aulnay 
refused  to  admit  any  one  until  he  had  dealt 
with  the  garrison.  The  Jesuit  was  reported 
to  him  as  Father  Isaac  Jogues,  and  the  name 
had  its  effect,  as  it  then  had  everywhere 
among  jieople  of  the  lioman  faith.  No  sol- 
dier coukl  be  surprised  at  meeting  a  Jesuit 
priest  anywhere  in  the  New  World.  But 
D'Aulnay  begged  Father  eTogues  to  excuse 
him  while  he  finished  a  moment's  duty,  and 
he  woukl  then  come  out  and  escort  his  guest 
into  the  fortress. 

The  urgent  demand,  howeyer,  of  a  mis- 
sionary to  whom   even  the  king  had  shown 


Tin:  suxc  OF  i:i)i:i.\VALi). 


209 


fuvor,  was  not  to  be  denied.  D'Aulnay  Iiad 
the  gates  set  ajar ;  and  i)uslilni;-  tln-ouuli 
tlieir  aperture  came  In  Father  flogiies  witli 
liis  donne  and  two  companions. 

The  governor  advanced  in  displeasure. 
He  would  have  put  out  all  but  the  priest, 
but  the  gates  were  slannned  to  prevent 
others  from  entering,  and  slammed  against 
the  chair  in  which  tlie  sentinels  could  see  a 
red-headed  dwarf.  The  weird  melody  of  lier 
screaming  threats  kept  them  dubious  while 
they  grinned.  The  gates  being  shut,  Marie 
fled  through  ranks  of  men-at-arms  to  An- 
tonla,  clung  to  her,  and  gave  Father  Jogues 
and  Van  Corlaer  no  time  to  stand  aghast  at 
the  spectacle  they  saw.  Crying  and  trem- 
bling, she  put  back  the  sternness  of  D'Aul- 
nay  de  Charnisay,  and  the  pity  of  Father 
Vincent  de  Paris,  and  pleaded  with  Father 
Jogues  and  the  Ilollandais  for  the  lives 
of  her  garrison  as  if  they  had  eome  w^ith 
heavenly  authority. 

"You  see  them  with  ropes  around  their 
necks,    IVIonsieur     Corlaer    and     Monsieur 


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270 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


IWt  '1 


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Jogues,  when  here  is  the  paper  the  governor 
signed,  guaranteeing  to  me  their  safety. 
Eclehvahl  is  scarce  half  a  year  from  France. 
Speak  to  the  governor  of  Acadia  :  for  you, 
Monsieur  Corlaer,  are  a  man  of  affairs,  and 
this  good  missionary  is  a  saint  —  you  can 
move  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  to  see  it  is 
not  the  custom,  even  in  warfare  with  women, 
to  trap  and  hang  a  garrison  who  has  made 
honorable  surrender." 

A  man  may  resolve  that  he  will  not  med- 
dle with  his  neighbor's  feuds,  or  involve  a 
community  dependent  on  him  with  any  one's 
formidable  enemy.  Yet  he  will  turn  back 
from  his  course  the  moment  an  appeal  is 
made  for  his  help,  and  face  that  enemy  as 
Van  Corlaer  faced  the  governor  of  Acadia, 
full  of  the  fury  roused  by  outrage.  But 
what  could  he  and  Father  Jogues  and  the 
persevering  Capuchin  say  to  the  parchment 
which  the  governor  now  deigned  to  pass 
from  hand  to  hand  among  them  in  reply  ?  — 
the  permission  of  Louis  XIII.  to  his  beloved 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  (whom  God  hold  in 


Tin:  SOXG   OF  KDKLWALD. 


211 


His  keeping)  to  take  the  Fort  of  St.  John 
and  deal  with  its  re])ellious  garrison  as 
seemed  to  him  fit,  for  which  destruction  of 
rebels  his  sovereign  would  have  him  in  lov- 
ing remembrance. 

During  all  this  delay  Edelwald  stood  with 
his  beautiful  head  erect  above  the  noose, 
and  his  self-repressed  gaze  still  following 
Marie.  The  wives  of  other  soldiers  were 
wailing  for  tlieir  husbands.  But  he  must 
die  without  wife,  without  love.  lie  saw 
Antonia  holding  her  and  weeping  with  her. 
His  blameless  passion  filled  him  like  a  great 
prayer.  That  changing  phantasm  which  we 
call  the  world  might  2)ass  from  before  his 
men  and  him  at  the  next  breath  ;  yet  the 
brief  last  song  of  the  last  troubadour  burst 
from  his  lips  to  comfort  the  lady  of  Fort  St. 
John. 

There  was  in  this  jubilant  cry  a  gush  and 
grandeur  of  power  outnuistering  force  of 
numbers  and  l>rute  cunning.  It  readied 
and  compelled  every  spirit  in  the  fortress. 
The  men  in  line  with  him  stood  erect  and 


272 


TIIL  LADY   Of  J'OJiT  ST.  JOJJN. 


Ik 


:4  ;  I 


l<  u 


lifted  tlieir  firm  jaws,  and  gazed  forward 
with  shining  eyes.  Those  who  had  faded 
in  the  slightest  degree  from  their  natural 
flush  of  blood  felt  the  strong  throbs  which 
paint  a  man's  best  on  his  face.  They  could 
not  sing  the  glory  of  death  in  duty,  the 
goodness  of  God  who  gave  love  and  valor 
to  man  ;  but  they  could  die  with  Edelwald. 

The  new  master  of  Fort  St.  John  was 
jealous  of  such  dying  as  the  song  ceased  and 
he  lifted  his  hand  to  signal  his  executioners. 
Father  Jogues  turned  away  praying  with 
tremulous  lips.  The  Capuchin  strode  to- 
ward the  hall.  But  Van  Corlaer  and  Lady 
Dorinda  and  Antonia  held  with  the  strength 
of  all  three  that  broken-hearted  woman  who 
struggled  like  a  giantess  with  her  arms 
stretched  toward  the  scaffold. 

"  I  will  save  them  —  I  will  save  them ! 
My  brave  Edelwald  —  all  my  brave  soldiers 
shall  not  die  !  —  Where  are  my  soldiers, 
Antonia  ?     It  is  dark.     I  cannot  see  them 


any  more 


T  " 


POSTLUDE. 


A   TIDE-CKEEK. 

When  ordinary  tlays  had  settled  flake  on 
flake  over  this  tragedy  in  Acadia  until  mem- 
ory  looked  back  at  it  as  at  the  soft  outlines 
of  a  snow-obliterated  grave,  Madame  Van 
Corlaer  stood  one  evening  beside  the  Hudson 
River,  and  for  half  an  hour  breathed  again 
the  salt  breath  of  Fundy  Bay.     Usually  she 
was  abed  at  that  hour.     But  Mynheer  had 
been   expected  all  day  on  a  sailing  vessel 
from  New  Amsterdam,  and  she  could  not  re- 
sist  coming  down  once  more   through   her 
garden  to  the  wharf. 

^  Van  Corlaer's  house,  the  best  stone  man- 
sion  in  Rensselaerswyck  —  that  overflow  of 
settlement  around  the  stockade  of  Fort 
Orange  --  stood  up  the  slope,  and  had  its 
farm  appended.  That  delight  of  Dutchmen, 
an  ample  garden,  extended  its  central  path 


1- 

t 


n 


m 


:i 


illl 


in 


I 


f'i 


274        T//J-:  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 

almost  like  an  avenue  to  the  river.  Antonia 
need  scarcely  step  off  her  own  domain  to 
meet  her  husband  at  the  wharf.  She  had 
lingered  down  the  garden  descent ;  for  sweet 
herbs  were  giving  their  souls  to  the  summer 
night  there ;  and  not  a  cloud  of  a  sail  yet 
appeared  on  the  river.  Some  fishing-boats 
lay  at  the  wharf,  biit  no  men  were  idling 
around  under  the  full  moon.  It  was  pleas- 
anter  to  visit  and  smoke  from  door  to  door 
in  the  streets  above. 

Antonia  was  not  afraid  of  any  savage  am- 
bush. Her  husband  kept  the  Iroquois  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  settlement.  The 
years  through  which  she  had  borne  her 
dignity  of  being  Madame  Van  Corlaer  con- 
stantly increased  her  res2)ect  for  that  co- 
lonial statesman.  The  savages  in  the  Mo- 
hawk valley  used  the  name  (>orlaer  when 
they  meant  governor.  Antonia  felt  sure 
that  the  Jesuit  missionary,  Father  Isaac 
Jogues,  need  not  have  died  a  martyr's  death 
if  Van  Corlaer  had  heard  in  time  of  his  re- 
turn to  the  Mohawks. 


A  TIDE-CRF.EK.  275 

At  the  bottom  of  licr  garden  she  rested 
lier  hands  npon  a  gate  in  the  low  stone  wall. 
The   mansion   behind   her  was  well  ordered 
and    prosperous.     No    drop    of    milk   was 
spilled    in   Antonia's    domain    without   her 
knowledge.     Sh(>    had   noted,  as   she  came 
down    the    path,    how   the   eabbages   were 
rounding    their    delicately    green    spheres. 
Antonia  was  a  housewife  for  whom  maids 
labored  with   zeal.     She   could  manipulate 
so  deftly  the  comfort-making  things  of  life. 
Neither  sunset  nor  moonrise  quite  banished 
the  dreamy  blue  light  on  these  rolling  lands 
around    the    head -waters   of    the    Hudson. 
Across  her  tranquil  commoni)lace   haj)piness 
blew  suddenly  that  ocean  breath  from  Fundy 
Bay ;  for  the  dwarf  of  Fort  St.  John,  lead- 
ing a  white  waddling  bird,  whose  feathers 
even  in  that  uncertain  light  showed  soil,  ap- 
peared from  the  screening  masonry  of  the 
wall. 

She  stood  still  and  looked  at  Antonia; 
and  Antonia  inside  the  gate  looked  at  her. 
That  instant  was  a  bubble  full  of  revolvin"- 


I II 


I'J' 


m 


Mt 


■( 


<'it 


iui 


■ 


vm: 


27G 


77//:  /,.!/>}'  0/'  /'^/?r  ST.  JOHN. 


dyes.  It  brought  a  tliouHjiiid  pictures  to 
Anton ia's  siglit.  Thus  silently  Imd  that 
same  dwarf  with  her  swan  appeared  to  a 
camp  in  the  Acadian  woods,  announcing 
trouble  at  Fort  St.  »7ohn. 

Again  Antonia  lived  through  confusion 
which  was  like  pilhigc;  of  the  fort.  Again 
she  sat  in  her  husband's  tent,  holding 
Marie's  dying  head  on  her  arm  while  grief 
worked  its  sw?*"*;  miracle  in  a  woman  formed 
to  such  fullness  of  beauty  and  strength. 
Again  she  saw  two  graves  and  a  long  trench 
made  in  the  frontier  graveyard  for  Marie 
and  her  officer  Edelwald  and  her  twenty- 
three  soldiers,  all  in  line  with  her  child. 
Once  more  Antonia  saw  the  household  turn 
from  that  spot  weeping  aloud ;  and  De 
Charnisay's  ships  already  sailing  away  with 
the  spoil  of  the  fort  to  Penobscot ;  and  his 
sentinels  looking  down  from  the  walls  of  St. 
John.  She  saw  her  husband  dividing  his 
own  party,  and  sending  all  the  men  he  could 
spare  to  navigate  La  Tour's  ship  and  carry 
the  helpless  women  and  children  to  the  head 


A  riDi:-viii:EK.  077 

of  Fundy  Bay.     All   these  thiiicrs  revolved 
before  her,  in  that  buhhle  of  an  instant,  be- 
fore  her  own  voice  broke  it,  savin<^  — 
*'  Th  this  you,  Le  Kossignol?  " 
"  Shubenaeadio    and    I,"    responded    the 
dwarf,  lilting  up  sweetly. 

"Where  do  you  eonie  from?"  inquired 
Antonia,  feeling  the  weirdness  of  her  visitor 
as  she  had  never  felt  it  in  the  hall  at  Fort 
St.  John. 

"Port  Koyal.  I  have  come  from  Port 
Koyal  on  i)urj)ose  to  speak  with  )ou." 

"  With  me  '/  •' 

"  AVith  you,  Madame  Antonia." 

"  You  must  then  go  direetly  to  the  house 
and  eat  some  supper,"  said  Antonia,  speaking 
her  first  thought  but  reserving  her  second  : 
"Our  people  will  take  to  the  fields  when 
they  see  the  poor  little  creature  by  daylight, 
and  as  for  the  swan,  it  is  worse  than  a  drove 


Ind 


lans 


not  eating  (o-nin-lit,  I  am  rid 


Mynhee 

"  I  am 

answered    Li>    Kossignol,    bold    in    mysteiy 
while   the  moon   made    half   uncertain   the 


278 


TUE  LADY  OF  FOHT  ST.  JOIIS. 


t! niggled  state  of  Shuljenacadie's  feathers. 
She  jdaced  her  liands  on  his  haek  and 
pressed  him  (h)\vn\vard,  as  if  his  phunago 
foamed  up  from  an  overfull  paeking-ease. 
Shubenaeadie  waddled  a  step  or  two  re- 
luetantly,  and  s(piatted,  spreading  his  wings 
and  eurving  his  head  around  to  look  at  her. 
The  dwarf  sat  upon  him  as  upon  a  throne, 
stroking  his  neek  with  her  right  hand  while 
she  talked.  She  seemed  a  part  of  the  river's 
whisper,  or  of  that  world  of  sunnner  night 
inseets  whieh  shrilled  around. 

*'  I  have  come  to  tell  you  about  the  death 
of  D'Aulnay  de  C'harnisay,"  said  this  pigmy. 

"  We  have  long  had  that  news,"  re- 
sponded Antonia,  '*  and  worse  whieh  fol- 
lowed it." 

Madame  Van  Corlaer  despised  Charles 
La  Tour  for  rci)ossessing  himself  of  all  he 
had  lost  and  becoming  the  first  power  in 
Acadia  by  marrying  D'Aulnay's  widow. 

"  No  ear,"  declared  the  dwarf,  *'  hath  ever 
heard  how  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  died." 

"  He  was  stuck  in  a  bog,"  said  Antonia. 


A   TIDE-CREEK. 


270 


**  lie  was  stuck  in  no  bog,"  said  Le  Kos- 
signol,  ^'for  I  alono  was  beside  him  at  the 
time.  And  I  ride  from  Port  Koyal  to  tell 
thee  tlie  wliole  of  it  and  free  my  mind,  lest 
I  be  obliged  to  fling  it  in  my  new  lady's 
face  the  next  time  she  speaks  of  his  happy 
memory.  Widows  who  take  second  hus- 
bands have  no  sense  about  the  first  one." 

Antonia  slightly  coughed.  It  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  have  your  class  disapproved  of,  even 
by  a  dwarf.  And  she  did  still  secretly  re- 
spect her  first  husband's  prophecy.  Had  it 
not  been  fulfilled  on  the  friend  she  best 
loved,  if  not  on  the  husband  she  took  ? 

"  Mynheer  Van  Corlaer  will  soon  be  home 
from  New  Amsterdam,  whither  he  made  a 
voyage  to  confer  with  the  governor,"  said 
Antonia.  "  Let  me  take  you  to  the  house, 
where  we  can  talk  at  our  ease." 

*'  I  talk  most  at  my  ease  on  Shubenaca- 
dic's  back,"  answered  Le  Rossignol,  hold- 
ing her  swan's  head  and  rubbing  her  cheek 
agairst  his  bill.  "You  will  not  keep  me  a 
moment  at  Fort  Orange.     I  fell  out  of  pa- 


^s. 


280        77/ /v    LADY  or  I'OUT  ST.  JO/IX. 

tionce  with  every  place  while  wo  lived  so 
long  in  i)overty  at  that  stockade  at  the  head 
of  Fundy  Hay." 

"  Did  you  live  there  long?"  inquired  An- 
tonia. 

"  Until  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay  died  out 
of  my  lord's  way.  What  could  my  lord  do 
for  us,  indeed,  with  nothing  but  a  ship  and 
scarce  a  dozen  men  ?  I  le  left  some  to  keep 
the  stockade  and  took  the  rest  to  man  his 
ship  when  he  started  to  Newfoundland  to 
send  her  forlorn  old  highness  back  to  Eng- 
land. Her  old  highness  hath  had  many  a 
dower  fee  from  us  since  that  day." 

"  Your  lord  hath  mended  his  fortunes," 
remarked  Antonia  without  approval. 

"  Yes,  we  are  now  the  greatest  people  in 
Acadia  ;  we  live  in  grand  state  at  Port 
Uoyal.  You  would  never  know  him  for  the 
careworn  man  he  was  —  except  once,  in- 
deed, when  he  came  from  viewing  the  ruins 
of  Fort  St.  John.  It  is  no  longer  main- 
tained as  a  fortress.  But  I  like  not  all  these 
things.  I  rove  more  now  than  when  Ma- 
dame Marie  lived." 


.1  Tinr.-cRKr.K.  281 

Silence  kept  a  moment  after  Madame 
La  Tom's  name,  between  Antonia  and  her 
illusive  visitor.  The  dwarf  seemed  clad  in 
sumptuous  garments.  A  cap  of  rich  velvet 
eould  be  discerned  on  lier  flaring  liair  in- 
stead  of  the  gull-breast  covering  she  once 
made  for  herself. 

"  Yet  I  roved  much  out  of  the  peasants' 
way  at  the  stockade,"  she  continued,  sending 
the  niglit  sounds   again   into    background. 
*'  Peasants  who  have  no  master  over  them 
become  like  swine.     We  had  two  goats,  and 
I  tended  them,  and  sat  ages  upon  ages  on 
the   bank  of  a   tide -creek  which   runs   uj) 
among  the  marshes  at   the  head  of  Fundy 
Bay.    Madame  Antonia,  you  should  see  that 
tide-creek.     It  shone  like  wet  sleek  red  car- 
nelian  when  the  water  was  out  of  it.  I  loved 
its  basin  ;  and  the  goats  would  go  down  to 
lick  the  salt.     They  liad  more  sense  than 
D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay,  for  they  knew  where 
to  venture.    I  thought  D'Aulnay  de  Charni- 
say was  one  of  our  goats  by  his  bleat,  until  I 
looked  down  and  saw  him  part  sunk  in  a 


282 


THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN. 


.'   -IS 


f'! 


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quicksand  at  the  bottom  of  the  channel.  The 
tide  was  already  frothing  in  like  yeast  upon 
him.  How  gloriously  the  tide  shoots  up  that 
tide-creek  !  It  hisses.  It  comes  like  thou- 
sands of  horses  galloping  one  behind  the 
other  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  —  fierce 
and  snorting  spray,  and  climbing  the  banks, 
and  still  trampling  clown  and  flying  over  the 
ones  who  have  galloped  in  first." 

"  But  what  did  D'Aulnay  de  Charnisay 
do?"  inquired  Antonia. 

'*  He  stuck  in  the  quicksand,"  responded 
Le  Rossignol. 

*'  But  did  he  not  call  for  lielp  ?  " 

"  He  did  notliing  else,  indeed,  until  the 
tide's  horses  trampled  him  under." 

"  But  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  sat  down  and  watched  him,"  said  the 
dwarf. 

"  How  could  you  ?  "  shuddered  Antonia, 
feeling  how  little  this  tiny  being's  humanity 
was  developed. 

"  We  had  some  chat,"  said  Le  Rossignol. 
"  He   promised  me  a  seigniory  if  I  would 


% 


A   TIDE-CREEK. 


283 


the 


the 


run  and  call  some  men  with  ropes.    '  I  heard 
a  Swiss's  v.'i'fe  say  that  you  i)romised  him  a 
seigniory,'  quoth  I.    '  And  you  had  enouoh 
ropes  then.'     lie  pledged  his  word  and  took 
oath  to  make  me  rich  if  I  would  get  him 
only  a  priest.     'You  pledged  your  word  to 
the  lady  of  Fort  St.  John,'  said  I.      Tlie 
water  kept  rising  and  he  kept  stretcliing  his 
neck  above  it,  and  crying  and  shouting,  and 
I  took  his  humor  and  cried  and  shouted  with 
him,  naming  the  glorious  waves  as  they  rode 
in  from  the  sea ;  — 
" '  Glaud  Burge ! ' 
"  '  Jean  le  Prince  ! ' 
"  '  Kenot  Babinet !  ' 
"  '  Ambroise  Tibedeaux  ! ' 
"  And  so  on  until  Franc/ois  Bastarack  tlio 
twenty-third  roller  flowed  over  his  Iiead,  and 
Edelwald   did   not  even   know  he  was  be- 
neath." 

Antonia  dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands. 

"  So  that  is  the  true  story,"  said  Le  Kos- 
signol.  "  He  died  a  good  salt  death,  and  liis 
men  pulled  him  out  before  the  next  tide." 


1 


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284 


r/ZA'  LJZJy   OF  FORT  ST.   JOHN. 


Presently  Anton ia  looked  up.  Her  eye 
was  first  caught  by  a  coming  sail  on  the 
river.  It  shone  in  the  moonlight,  moving 
slowly,  for  there  was  so  little  wind.  Her 
husband  must  be  there.  She  turned  to 
say  so  to  Le  Rossignol ;  who  was  gone. 

Antonia  opened  the  gate  and  stepped  out- 
side, looking  in  every  direction  for  dwarf 
and  swan.  She  had  not  even  noticed  a 
rustle,  or  the  pat  of  Shubenacadie's  feet 
upon  sand.  But  Le  Kossignol  and  her  fa- 
miliar had  disappeared  in  the  wide  expanse 
of  moonlight ;  whether  deftly  behind  tree 
or  rock,  or  over  wall,  or  through  air  above, 
Antonia  had  no  mind  to  find  out. 

Even  the  approaching  sail  took  weird- 
ness.  The  ship  was  too  distant  for  her  to 
yet  hear  the  hiss  of  water  around  its  prow. 
But  in  that.  Van  Corlaer  and  the  homely 
good  happiness  of  common  life  was  ap- 
proaching. With  the  dwarf  had  disappeared 
that  misty  sweet  sorrowful  Acadian  world. 


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